


What the Dragon Seeks

by pompadorkery



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Teen McCree, Blackwatch Era, Brief appearances of Angela, Canonical Character Death, Flirty Hanzo, Hanzo and Genji with a good brotherly dynamic what, Jesse and Hanzo are in love and smitten it's disgusting, M/M, Mentor Reyes, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Non-Explicit Sex, Smoking, Trying to stay as close to canon timelines as possible, genji being a little shit, lots of fluff, not exactly a happy ending, oh boy here comes the angst, they are so young and stupid I can't protect them, young mchanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9619169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pompadorkery/pseuds/pompadorkery
Summary: A dragon seeks fortune. A dragon seeks power. A dragon seeks a hoarde of riches in which to make his nest.A dragon does not seek love or companionship. He has no use for it. What's his is his and his alone.Though, has a dragon ever been in love?





	1. Chapter 1

His father's voice catches his ears, calling him away from his sword practice. 

He had been told that they were expecting visitors from some military organization. Negotiations were planned. His father would be procuring them weapons and supplies in exchange for some sort of service. He assumes probably for some extra muscle and protection, as well as a turned eye to some of their more illicit activities. It's not an unusual or uncommon arrangement. 

His father insists that he starts joining in on the conversations. The Shimada-clan will be his in the future, and he needs to learn the in and outs of everything. At nineteen years of age, the responsibility hasn't quite set in yet. He still has time before he is to take over.

He carefully sets his practice sword back down on the rack. Wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm, he exits the dojo. At the door, he slips on his geta and pads his way to the main gate where they are to greet their guests. The wooden shoes clack noisily against the stone pathways and he nearly loses his footing on a loose bit of gravel. He has been warned to watch his step, his ankles were always a bit weak. 

The stones are littered with the pale petals of cherry blossoms. The estate is filled with the trees, their fresh scent lingering heavily in the air at all times. With a gust of wind whipping through, the petals scatter and spread around like a blizzard of blushed snow. Their alluring fragrance is strongest then.

He can't say that he likes or dislikes the smell. He hardly even notices it anymore. It was just something that was there, ever present. It's not unpleasant in any sense, but when one's whole world is cherry blossoms, he can't help but wish for something else. 

\--

His father meets him just before the gate. He hasn't been so dressed up in a long while. Instead of his usual loose-fitting yukata, he is wearing a crisp black suit. His hair is pulled into a tight bun at the back of his head, the grey steaks running through the strands are even more evident in this style. Hanzo must keep himself from laughing. It would be disrespectful, but it is amusing. His father is obviously trying to intimidate their guests; looking like a proper yakuza boss. His white shirt is even unbuttoned down to his chest, showing just a hint of the ink covering his skin. A simple, but effective warning. 

“Hanzo,” he sighs, looking down at the sight that is his son, “Did you just come from practice?”

He didn't need to say any more, Hanzo knows exactly what he's getting at. He is disheveled, still wearing his practice garb and sticky with sweat. It really isn't any way to greet foreign guests. 

Shaking his head and clicking his tongue, he grabs the neckline of Hanzo's keikogi; carelessly left to drape around his waist, allowing free range of movement to his upper body. Pulling the garment up, he slips it over his son's shoulders, giving him just the bare minimum of modesty.

They are already short on time, so it'd have to do. They head for the front gate. 

A few men, Hanzo recognizes them as his father's bodyguards, line the doors. The signal is given and the gates creak open. It takes four grown men to pull the huge wooden doors inward. He'd seen his father do it with only the help of two others before. 

The young Shimada remains close by his father's side. Only recently was he allowed to begin sitting in on family business meetings. He's still a bit nervous when it comes to meeting strangers. Being sheltered most of his life certainly didn't help his people skills. That is where his younger brother excels over him, despite being only sixteen. 

Peeking around the father's shoulders, he sees a decent sized group of about fifteen men and women outside the gate. They wear dark clothing, tactical armor, and sour expressions. They look like criminals and ex-cons, he thinks. Standing at the very front is a man with crossed arms and a hood over his head. Scars slice across his face, bright in contrast to his dark skin. He seems to be distracted by another at his side, seemingly scolding him.

A kid. That's what he looks like. Shaggy brown hair sticks out from under a cowboy hat. He's tall, about the height of his superior beside him. He's the only one not wearing the usual black ensemble. A bright red bandanna hangs around his neck. He looks absolutely ridiculous. 

“Gabriel Reyes I assume?” his father steps forward and extends his hand in greeting, a gesture that Hanzo is not used to seeing. He's really dishing out the charm for these strangers. He's putting on a big show for them. Are they really that important?

The hooded man, Reyes, shakes his hand, “Shimada-san, its a pleasure.”

The group is motioned inside, the guards step back and allow entrance. Hanzo can see their hawk-like eyes watching the group as if they were prey. Their hands hover over their hips or inside the breast of their jackets, ready to arm themselves should anyone step out of line. 

His father is a gracious host, however. His sharp glare combined with a firm hand, orders them to stand down without a word. He is happy to welcome guests into his home with open arms. Trigger-happy guards tend to make people feel uneasy. He preferred to be feared and respected through body language and appearance, rather than waving guns about. 

They all file file in, Reyes walks along beside his father as he himself is passed along. He somehow ends up walking next to the shaggy kid. He can't possibly be Reyes's son, the man is too young; not to mention they don't exactly look alike. Who is he then? 

Now that he is closer, he can see the dusting of stubble across his jaw and the pathetic excuse for a beard on his chin. Perhaps not such a kid. He talks. Rambles. Hanzo can barely understand his heavy accent. He'll just pretend he doesn't speak English. Maybe that will make him shut up. 

“It sure is nice here! I've never seen so many trees in my life!” He looks around, lifting the brim of his hat slightly to get a better view. “Reyes said that we ain't here for sight-seein' but.... golly. Everything here's like a goddamn painting!” He bares a toothy grin, turning to Hanzo, “Even you! Yer prettier than a parade float on the Fourth'a July!”

With this comment, his commander turns around and gives him a solid knock across the top of his head. His hat nearly flies off. 

“McCree!” he barks, “Show some respect. He's the Shimada heir, not one of your country bimbos.” He turns quickly to apologize, “I'm sorry sir. He's a newer recruit, he's still in training, he doesn't know how to hold his tongue.”

Hanzo's father chuckles and waves dismissively, “It is quite alright.” He looks over his shoulder to his son and smirks. With an amused lilt to his voice he speaks in Japanese to him, “It's your fault for dressing so provocatively.” He continues to laugh under his breath.

Hanzo huffs and pulls his keikogi tighter over his chest. 

The cowboy's words don't leave him. Pretty? No one had ever called him pretty before; especially not another male. Especially not one he had just met. Handsome: yes. Dignified: yes. But never pretty. 

What does he mean by it? By the look of his face, not much. His eyes are still wide and wandering, taking in all the sights, his ears taking in all the sounds. “I'm mighty jealous that y'all get to live here, in all this,” he says. 

“What do you mean... a parade float on the Fourth of July?” He knows the date: The United States day of freedom and independence. Maybe it is just a phrase, some slang he hasn't heard before. Everyday his brother would come home spouting some new, stupid slang that made so sense. 

His thick eyebrows rise, mouth falling slightly agape. He's surprised to hear him speak. Perhaps he really believed that Hanzo didn't speak English, and that his words had fallen on deaf ears. “Oh, uh, well,” he hesitates- not so loose with his tongue when he realizes every word of his blather had been understood. “Y'see, on the Fourth'a July we set up floats n' stuff. All decked out in red, white, and blue. Some of em'-” he whistles, motioning his hands in some grand gesture depicting size, “-are gigantic! They got all sorts of banners and streamers. They're all shiny, sparklin', y'know, real pretty.”

“And you are saying that I'm prettier?” Hanzo raises a brow, eyes darting to catch a glance of the scruffy boy's face. 

His eyes go wide again, cheeks flushing. He pulls his hat down and turns his face away to hide the apparent blush on his tawny skin. He mumbles something incomprehensible under his breath. Hanzo can't quite catch it, but his flustered expression gives him away. 

His mannerisms are intriguing. He lumbers around as if he can't control the size of his limbs. It's as if he had a growth spurt and hadn't adjusted to his, honestly, impressive size. His arms hang at his side, fingers flexing and relaxing, the pad of his thumb running across his palms. Eventually, they find their way into his pockets. He continues to look away, watching the tree branches sway in the wind. 

His father leads them across the wooden paneling surrounding the stone garden in the courtyard. Petals are everywhere, piling up in the corners and laying all over the pathways. Hanzo simply steps on them he walks. They are insignificant. The cowboy tries to avoid them, as if he would disrespect the Shimada clan by treading on them. He visibly cringes when he accidentally, but inevitably steps on one. 

Hanzo covers his mouth, faking a cough to suppress his laughter. 

The group is taken far into the estate. A few various members of the group seem wary, being led into unfamiliar territory by a man they don't know. Reyes's sense of calm doesn't do anything to put them at ease. Both men chat up ahead, exchanging stories and sharing a few laughs between them. Hanzo knows his father. He'd do whatever he could to get on someone's good side. He's a perfect manipulator. This Reyes seems very capable in his own right, though. He isn't one to be taken lightly, with one look at him, it's easy to tell. 

Leading them past the gazebo in the garden, they are brought into the shrine. The space is grand, a mural of two looping dragons hangs high on the wall. It is still daytime, so the lamps are not lit, and instead sunlight streams in from the outside deck. The ranks are quiet as they pass through. 

Going up the side steps, the all fill into a back room. His father generally used it for conducting business. The floor is covered in tatami and decent sized cushions are placed on the ground. A few ornamental trinkets line the outer walls; vases, tapestries, robes. His father takes a seat behind a small, low desk. Hanzo sits beside him, tucking his feet underneath himself. The rest of the group doesn't sit until their commander does. 

Reyes sits at the front, one leg extended. The other knee props up and he rests his elbow on it. Pushing back his hood, a knit beanie still covers his head. 

The cowboy sits down next to him, unsure of where to put his legs. At first he tries to imitate Hanzo, but finds that position uncomfortable almost instantly. So, instead, his long legs stretch forward, taking up a great deal of room. His posture is deplorable; slumped over, forearms resting on his thighs. 

Hanzo maintains solid eye-contact with him, that is, until he turns away once again to hide his rosy cheeks. This doesn't deter the young dragon. Watching his American boy is like a cultural study, it is fascinating. He has an air of confidence, even over-confidence in the right situation, but that doesn't mean he is immune to the the Shimada's oppressive eye. He is like a young buck; a stallion easily broken under the right touch. He knows the type; proud and boastful if no one opposes him. Likely, no one has. 

It's a challenge then. There's no reason he can't have some fun. 

His father prattles on, explaining the situation and reiterating the terms they'd most like previously agreed on. This team, Hanzo learns, is called Blackwatch. Both sides have something they need from the other. 

He explains that the Shimadas have recently been feeling heavy pressure from neighboring families the past few months. “Recently, many of our 'acquaintances' have been becoming problems. Many new heirs are coming into power and are deciding to throw their weight around. They are young, stupid, and have begun to target my sons.” He lays a hand on Hanzo's shoulder. His expression turns serious, lips drawn into a tense line. “I do not appreciate this. In exchange for protection and perhaps, some leeway from any law enforcement, I will personally supply your organization with the weapons and supplies it needs. We also have many trained assassins, should you need someone disposed of without dirtying your own name. And, for good measure, I am also willing to offer you one of my sons.”

Hanzo was not informed of this term. He stops ogling the scruffy boy, and looks at his father. Before he can say anything, the man raises a hand to silence him. 

“My son Genji is a formidable swordsman. With proper trainging and a strict regiment, I believe he could be a great asset to you.”

While Hanzo processes these words in his head, Reyes speaks, “While this is a tempting offer, Shimada-san, we could easily acquire weapons and supplies by other means. Why would we team up with known gangsters?” By the tone of his voice, he's simply testing the waters. He trying to see what he can get out of them. 

“What we can give you cannot be acquired easily. Have you heard of a monopoly, Commander Reyes? Look anywhere in the world, I assure you, at some point, whatever they are dealing, has come from us.” He doesn't skip a beat in his rebuttal. “Would you not rather have them from a direct source? How would you say.... 'cutting out the middle man.'”

Reyes looks to the cowboy, leaning over to speak with him in a hushed tone, as if consulting him. He said previously that the boy was a trainee, so it is a curious action. 

“I've been told that you have connections to Deadlock, yes? The Deadlock Rebels?” his father asks, “We had a good relationship with the Rebels. I hear your group is responsible for their downfall.” 

“That's true. They were growing too large, becoming too unruly. We were given orders to take them out.”

“Shame, they were one of our biggest clients. So, tell me, what stops you from bringing us down when we become too large and unruly?”

Both men smile. They have less of a trusting relationship, and more of an unspoken agreement to not turn the other in for their actions. 

Reyes speaks to the boy again, the kid looks uncomfortable. He whispers a few things before the Commander speaks again, “Friends don't turn friends in, right?” 

\--

The negotiations drag on. The cowboy gets up after a short amount of time. He exits out the sliding doors. Hanzo observes him as he slides the doors shut. He desperately wishes to do the same. It is important that he learns his information and understands how to speak business, but he can only pay attention to this boring drivel for so long. 

His father looks over a digital tablet, filled with more specifics of the deal they are trying to strike. He scrolls and swipes from page to page. From the looks of it, there is going to be back and forth banter for hours to come. Hanzo excuses himself. 

“I'm sorry Father, I'm going to the washroom,” he says, easily standing up even after kneeling for so long. 

He nods, not paying too much attention as his son slips away. He has other things to focus on. 

\--

Hanzo wanders the estate, searching for the scraggly cowboy. A faint red glow in the distance catches his eye. It has grown dark outside since the meeting started, so the tiny flickering light is like a beacon. Following the sight, a scent enters his nose. It isn't the usual cherry blossoms, or the calming smell of incense, but something entirely unfamiliar.

Around the corner is exactly who he expects to find. The cowboy leans his back against the stone walls overlooking the cliff-side beyond the precariously placed fence. He doesn't notice Hanzo approaching him until he's close. The clacking of his geta should have given him away, the the boy is off in his own world.

A lit cigarette hangs from his lips, a breath of smoke billows out from his mouth. 

“Greetings,” Hanzo says, carefully closing the distance between them. 

He nearly jumps. The cigarette falls to the ground among a pile of already crushed ones. 

“Oh! Shit! Ah, sorry, sorry!” He scrambles to stamp it out under his heavy boot.

Hanzo chuckles, “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Nah, I... um, Sorry, sorry about before if I uh... made ya feel uncomfortable or anything,” he fumbles with his words, his accent making them nearly incoherent.

“What is your name?” Hanzo asks, stepping in closer.

Scratching his stubble again, he answers, “Jesse McCree. Feel free to laugh, most people do.”

“Jesse, isn't that normally a woman's name? Is it not short for Jessica?” Hanzo teases, he understand more than he lets on. He's highly proficient in the English language, both written and spoken. He simply means to tease. 

“Geez,” he hangs his shoulders in defeat, “Most people just laugh, ya don't gotta get all smart on me.”

Hanzo leans against the fence, it creaks at his weight, but it will not break. He forgets to speak, he is too busy watching Jesse's every movement. He moves a lot. His fingers are always twitching. He expresses every word with an equivalent action: hanging his head, gesturing, or shifting his weight.

“So, uh, are you Hanzo or Genji? Reyes told me that there were two sons...” He trails off, the dragon's eyes boring into him make him anxious. He pulls at his bandanna, cooling the sweat beading down his neck.

“Hanzo. Genji is my younger brother. I am the pretty one.”

Jesse shifts, Hanzo notices his fingers twiddling again. He wants to say something, he can tell. His lips purse and fall. They're dry, chapped, the corners are red and slightly cracked. Smoking didn't help keep them moisturized, and Jesse doesn't look the type to care too much about personal wellness.

“Are you nervous?” Hanzo asks, his smile perking impishly. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Well, to be honest, yeah. A bit. I'm not real familiar with the customs 'round here, afraid I might do somethin' wrong and offend ya.” At this moment he looks much less like a stallion and more like a wet dog. 

“Don't be foolish, you are our guest. We want to see that you are taken care of and feel comfortable.” Hanzo moves closer, doing the opposite of making his guest feel comfortable. He can feel the heat emanating from the cowboy as he stands beside him. “You can smoke if you like.”

His last cigarette had been cut short, so he isn't complaining, and Hanzo urges him every time he tries to resist. He rummages around his pocket, pulling out the carton and shaking one cigarette loose. He takes the filter between his lips, letting it dangle as he reaches for his lighter. It isn't the cheap kind one might find for sale at a convenience store or a fuel station. It is shiny and metal, an engraved crest is emblazoned across the side. The text reads, “Deadlock Rebels” along with the image of a winged skull, held down my a lock and chains; a memento of his past. 

The flame clicks to life and singes the end of the cigarette. It smolders and the smell of tobacco and smoke fill the air around them. Hanzo breaths it in deeply. The smell is putrid, part of him wants to gag, and part of him wants more. Jesse sees him staring at it, and offers the carton to him, “Want one?”

Curiously, he accepts. He pulls one free and places it between his lips, like he'd seen Jesse do. 

“Lemme get that for ya,” he mumbles, retrieving his lighter and flipping it open to ignite the flame.

He stands in front of Hanzo, leaning over to match his height as he carefully lights the end of the cigarette in his mouth. 

As the flame burns, Hanzo can see Jesse's eyes. They focus on the lighter, the warm glow reflects off his irises. The eyes he thought were brown, are more hazel in tone. Flecks of gold and green swirl in them like a caramel glaze. They're lined by thick, dark lashes, so dark that from far enough back it looks like he is instead wearing kohl. His brows are just as thick and dark, though mostly hidden from view by his hat. 

His own cigarette is shoved to the corner of his mouth, his tongue pokes out over his lips in concentration. From this distance, Hanzo can smell him. He smells like tobacco, which is a given, but also like leather and musk. His smell is, by all means, very masculine. It is so unlike the floral blossoms that Hanzo has grown with, scents ingrained in his nose. It's different, exciting.

The paper wrapping burns, the tiny sounds of crackling and sizzling hits his ears. Jesse replaces himself at his side. 

Hanzo breaths in, sucking in the smoke. It burns his throat and his eyes water. Coughing soon follows. The taste is revolting on his tongue. His body immediately rejects the foreign sensation.

“Woah now!” Jesse grabs the fitful Hanzo by the shoulders. He rubs circles over his back with his palms. “Don't tell me ya never smoked before. Yer daddy's gonna kill me!” He trembles in Jesse's hands. ”Shit, seriously, y'alright?” His own cigarette almost drops from his mouth again. 

Hanzo's shoulders shake as he doubles over. Jesse's words become complete nonsense as he blubbers in concern. Hanzo raises a hand, dismissing any of the cowboy's fears. His fit subsides with a burst of bubbling laughter. He laughs deep, from the diaphragm, the sound carries in the quiet evening. Jesse chuckles nervously, still unsure if Hanzo is messing with him. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” he assures, straightening himself back up. “You like these?” He hold the cigarette between his middle and forefinger. He has to admit, the smell is growing on him with each passing second. 

Jesse shrugs, “Not really. It's a nasty habit.” His fingers grab the filter in his mouth, barely anything was left to burn anyway. He tosses the butt onto the ground and crushes it under his heel. His spurs scrape against the wood. He pulls out another, put it in his mouth, and flips open his lighter. He flicks it once, twice, and three times. No flame burns. “Shit,” he gruffs. 

Hanzo's normally prudish demeanor is thrown aside. “What the hell?” he thinks. While Jesse is busy fiddling with the device, Hanzo grabs hold of his scruffy chin. He freezes, still clutching the lighter. 

His his cigarette in his lips, Hanzo touches the burning end to Jesse's. Ash falls to the ground between them. The smoky smell fills up his nostrils again as the ends smolder. Intoxicating. He's decided, he wants more. 

He pulls away, eyelids heavy, staring at the kindling ashes. Jesse is still frozen. The cigarette droops from his chapped lips. Flipping the cap back on the lighter, he stows it away in his pocket. 

Hanzo props his elbows on the fence, leaning forward, staring off into the night sky. He takes a short drag, still choking on the smoke a bit, but nothing too severe. “Interesting. Prettier than a parade float on the Fourth of July,” he repeats. His face is illuminated by the red glow. 

They stay in the moment, silently looking out. Cicadas chirp and sing, providing a pleasant ambient noise. It isn't until the thundering sound of footsteps draw close that they move. 

The negotiations much be complete. His father would be looking for him, he'd be furious if he found Hanzo skipping out to go smoke with this American boy. So he'd lie. He'll tell his father that he was feeling ill, so he went to the washroom, and then decided to retire for the evening. It's the best excuse he can think up on the fly. 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, taking one last drag of smoke before popping the remainder between Jesse's lips. 

Just as quickly as he says so, he's off. He slips off his geta and holds them in one hand, padding off down the planks. With one quick movement he vaults over a barrier and is out of sight. His timing is perfect. He hears the voice of Commander Reyes chiding Jesse just moments later. 

“Goddammit McCree, what have I told you? Two cigarettes, really? Are you trying to get cancer?”

“Sorry Reyes.”

He hears a soft thwack. 

“...Commander Reyes.”

He's out of earshot before he can hear anymore.

Leaping and bounding over the walls and fences, it doesn't take long to reach the main house, where his family actually resides. It's traditional, some would say old-fashioned, but it is large; much larger than a man and his two sons would actually need. The servants live off the main house, in a respectably sized wing. They were never too far should they be needed. 

Hanzo crawls over the gate, dropping down onto the other side, landing on his toes, nearly silently. Scanning the area, he doesn't see any servants still wandering about, they must have all gone to bed already. Perfect. Relaxing a bit, he strolls in, leaving his shoes at the entrance.

\--

The house is mostly dark when he enters, strange. He expected-

“Does Father know that you skipped out on the meeting?”

Genji.

Shit.

“Were the spying on me?” Hanzo's eyes lower, whatever good mood he's in changes quickly. 

Genji shrugs and flips on the light switch. The room bursts to life. Hanzo's eyes adjust momentarily, blinking a few times, and then he sees it.

“What have you done to your hair?”

“Oh, you like it? One of my friends did it for me.” The boy's hair is no longer the usual black, like Hanzo's, like their father's, like almost every person in Japan. Atop his head are bright green spikes. He smiles wide, running his fingers through. He is obviously pleased with himself. 

Hanzo crosses his arms. “You intend to blackmail me for sneaking out... but you are aware that Father is going to kill you when he sees your hair.” He doesn't understand his younger brother's logic. He either didn't think things all the way through, or he is more oblivious than Hanzo already thinks. 

“Hah, Father doesn't care. He's shipping me off. You know, you were there. You heard him,” his smile breaks. He is fiercely proud, but he is still a child. He longs for attention and recognition, but instead he is chastised by their father and fellow clan members. “You're his heir, brother, not me.”

“I'm sure he has plans for you. Joining this group, I'm sure it is a great honor,” says Hanzo.

“Sure. Honor,” he pouts, sighing heavily. “Don't worry, I won't tell.” His dark brows turn up, lightly creasing in the middle, “I've never seen you laugh like that.” His smile returns, he doesn't want to make his brother worry. 

The blood rushes to Hanzo's face. “I did not,” he denies.

“You did. You and that American were being pretty friendly,” he perks up at the thought of gossip and teasing his brother. It is a treat he rarely got to partake in, “You were flirting with him.”

“I was not.”

“Brother.” he says, raising his brow knowingly. His grin could be described as 'shit-eating'.

“I'm going to bed,” Hanzo turns to walk off, his cheeks hot and pink. Was he flirting? Absolutely. Did he want his brother(or anyone else for that matter) knowing? Of course not. 

He has a reputation to uphold. He's the strong, stoic heir to the Shimada clan. Some might call him emotionless or cold. It doesn't bother him. To be feared was to be respected. 

\--

Taking the short walk to his room, he thinks. Its been some time since he found interest in someone. He remembers a girl when he was young, the daughter of one of his father's associates. He saw her occasionally. She was timid, sweet, and soft-spoken. They'd play together and explore the castle-grounds. Her name was Kimiko, he thinks. He soon grew bored of her. He had been a child, it wasn't his fault that she couldn't hold his interest. The next was an older woman when he was about fourteen. She was a local shopkeeper, she was probably in her late twenties. He thinks he was drawn in by her kindness. She'd always say hello to him and sometimes give him a candy when he passed. Again, he found himself bored with her after a time. There was no chase, no excitement. 

He realized it later, everyone had to respect him. They had to act kind to gain favor with his family. They weren't being kind because they wanted to. It was fear. 

This cowboy, Jesse McCree, before even knowing his name or who he was, he was doling out the compliments and charm. He didn't care about his upbringing, honestly, he probably didn't even understand it. He called him pretty without anything to gain by it. He said it because it was truly how he felt. 

He wants to explore this. He wants to delve into the mind of the scraggly ruffian. What makes him tick? Is he good-natured simply because he wants to be?

He wants him. He wants to break him down. He wants to see what lies under the garish spurs and wide-brimmed hat. 

He wants him

A dragon gets what it wants.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get the second chapter out for y'all as quickly as I could.  
> Enjoy~

The following morning he awakes with a sour taste on his tongue; the stale taste of tobacco. He smacks his lips together, grimacing at the cottony feeling coating his teeth. With a stretch, he sits up on his futon. The sun hits his eyes through the cracks in the blinds. The annoying sound of birds flittering and fussing about abound in the trees outside his window. They are too lively so early in the morning.

Getting up with a groan and still sleepy eyes, he heads to the washroom to clean up. He brushes his teeth, combs his hair and ties it back in a loose, low ponytail. He returns to his room to change clothes, he's still wearing his less than fresh clothing from yesterday. He opts for a light yukata for now. He'll change later for practice.

By the time he wanders into the dining room, Genji is already seated, clicking the buttons on a handheld game while he shovels eggs into his mouth. 

There's a setting already placed for Hanzo as well. Prepared at his seat is a small bowl of fluffy white rice, a freshly grilled fish, and a whole egg on the side. He sits down across from his brother at the table, picking up the egg and cracking it over the rice. He stirs it in with a pair of chopsticks. “Where is Father?” he asks, lifting a bit of rice to his mouth. 

“He's out with those military guys,” Genji says through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He swallows, “He's overlooking their training or something, I think. He wants to make sure they're as good as they say they are.” He loads up another forkful of eggs, nearly flinging it as he gestures, “You should probably check it out.” He's paying more attention to his game than on making sure his breakfast actually makes it into his mouth.

Hanzo picks a portion of meat off of his fish. He nods and lifts his chin, “So, what did he think of your hair?”

“Oh, yeah. I'm grounded.”

“You don't seem very upset.”

He shrugs, “Everyone is so distracted, they won't even notice if I slip out.”

Hanzo shakes his head and sighs. When will that boy learn?

Finishing off their meals in relative silence, the two part ways. Genji sneaks off, most likely to the arcade down the street to meet up with his friends. Hanzo makes his way over to the practice range.

-– 

The estate is buzzing, busier than he's ever seen it. Servants scurry around, some carrying boxes of supplies, other tote bags full of produce. They chatter among themselves as they see to their tasks. Not one carries a frown. They are paid, contrary to what many think. Many, as Hanzo has learned, send money home to their families, seeing as on the estate necessities are provided for them. It was a 'secret' that his great-grandfather had passed down. Treat the servants well, and they'll return the favor. Its common sense really.

It's warm outside, slightly humid, but overall very pleasant. The usual floral scent hangs in the air, along with the smell of clean laundry. Two women are hard at work hanging it out on the line to dry as quickly as they can. Over the horizon he sees clouds. Perhaps it will rain later.

-–

As he approaches the training grounds, the quiet, sleepy morning erupts sharply. The sound of gunshots ring through the air, the tall stone walls surrounding the grounds can no longer dampen their sound the closer he gets.

He enters silently, not wishing to disrupt anything or cause a scene. His father and Commander Reyes stand on the sidelines while the rest of the numbers are lines up single-file. Each one holds their respective firearm in hand. Joining the two on the sidelines, his eyes fix on Jesse, who is near the middle of the lineup.

He doesn't make notice of Hanzo's approach. His face is more serious that it had been the day prior. Without the goofy, dopey expression he looks more matured. Perhaps he's just concentrating, or perhaps he'd gotten told off by his commander. Either is probable.

Hanzo watches as each agent, in succession, fires off a round into a silhouette target placed about twenty yards in front of them. They easily hit, bullets scattered between the chest and the head, all good, if not fatal, shots. Its boring. Once one was done, the next steps up and does the same thing.

That's why he likes swordplay and archery. A gun is simple. You aim, pull the trigger, and it lands. Bows are finicky, more finesse goes into the shooting of an arrow than firing a bullet; the arm strength of the archer, the tenseness of the string, the tiny, minute changes in aim according to wind or other conditions. And swordplay was a wholly different demon.

It isn't until Jesse's turn that Hanzo actually cares about what Blackwatch has to offer.

The cowboy steps up to his mark, planting his feet firmly and drawing a revolver from his right side. Curiously, he has a second as well, on his left. He carelessly spins the gun around his index finger, throwing a glance to his commander.

Reyes motions to one of his boys, who runs to the target, moving it back about ten yards. Shaking his head, he points even farther back, “More! Back more!” he instructs.

How unfair.

The target is pulled back further, now resting a grand fifty yards or so from where Jesse is standing. The paper silhouette marker on the front is replaced with a new one, just for him.

Hanzo frowns. Fifty yards is absurdly far for such a firearm. He knows he'll have issues with this Commander Reyes if he keeps acting like such an arrogant asshole; punishing Jesse unfairly and putting him on display. His father seems intrigued, however.

Despite the odds stacked against him, Jesse lifts his gun. He stares the target dead-on. His eyelids lower, his brow tenses. He raises his left hand to the hammer. A silence swells around him. Everyone waits.

In an instant, he fires off six shots, emptying his round into the target's head. At least, it sounds like six shots. Squinting and straining, Hanzo can make out one hole in the paper.

The silhouette from the target is brought forward. The three group up around it. There is indeed just one hole.

One hole. Six shells on the ground.

It doesn't add up.

Unless he missed 

Or he didn't.

“He's got the best shot out of all these sorry whelps,” Reyes says, smiling boastfully, “I've never seen him miss.”

Jesse closes his eyes and exhales. His body eases, his shoulders slump over and the silly asymmetrical grin returns to his face. He comes over to check out his handiwork as well. “Pretty good, huh?” he comments, poking his finger through the hole.

While Hanzo's father is more than pleased, he asks, “Tell me, boy. What about the other hand?” He eyes the second revolver, still holstered on Jesse's left hip. “It is a pity to carry two guns when one side is favored.”

“Well sir,” he lifts the brim of his hat, “I'm actually left handed.”

This gives him a chuckle. “Well then, I have no reason to fret.”

\--

Without his face shadowed by the brim of his hat, Hanzo notices the tiny freckles and pockmarks that dot his tan face. It was too dark to see them before. He's still a teenager, right at the cusp of adulthood. He probably knew how to shoot a gun before he knew how to use a razor. Here he is, a deadly weapon, his youth ripped away from him.

Hanzo feels a strange similarity.

Reyes mutters something to him in a language Hanzo doesn't understand, patting him on the shoulder. Jesse nods, and turns away, strolling to the end of the line, his spurs jingle with every step. He sits down in the dirt, back pressed against the stony wall. It doesn't take more than a moment before he pulls the carton of cigarettes from his pocket.

It draws Hanzo in like a cat to mint.

“Good morning,” he greets, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear as he gives a shallow bow, “Did you sleep well?”

Jesse looks up at him from his seated position. “Can't say I did. Reyes wasn't too happy with me last night.” His tone is light, friendly. “Then again, he rarely ever is, haha...” He flicks open his lighter, holding one hand behind it to guard the flame as he lights the end of his cigarette.

“Oh, you fixed it?” Hanzo points to the device. He tucks the fabric of his yukata behind his knees as he squats down to speak with him on level.

“Hm?” he takes a moment to process. “Oh, yeah, my lighter yeah. It just needed s'more fuel. I'm runnin' through it like crazy. I'm gonna have to pick up another pack of smokes soon too. Gettin' low. All the stress is gettin' to me.”

He talks a lot, Hanzo notes. Really, he only shuts up to take a drag. Even when he exhales he makes noise, a heavy breath as the cloud of smoke evaporates from his lips. Why does he fill every moment of silence? Maybe nerves? Sometimes, when a person is nervous or unsure, they just simply... talk.

If he's to get anywhere, he needs to relax the cowboy. He seemed calm enough when they first arrived. He was too busy being distracted by all the new sights and sounds.

So then, that's what he'll do. He'll show him new things. He doesn't really have any other plans for the day, he can indulge Jesse with a tour.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he asks, smiling gently.

Jesse hesitates, quickly taking another drag to buy himself a fraction more time. Hanzo sees his eyes dart to his commander. Understandable, he is a soldier, technically. He can't just go AWOL.

Hanzo extends his hand, standing up. “I'll make something up, come on.”

Jesse shrugs, shoving his lighter into his pocket. He wipes his hands off on his chaps before accepting Hanzo's open palm. His hand is warm, somewhat clammy, and large. His fingers are long, but not slender. They're considerably calloused. These are the hands of a person used to hard work. He probably did ranch work as a kid or something, it would certainly explain the get-up.

Approaching his father carefully, Hanzo tries to read his mood. He seems to be feeling good enough. He's chatting it up with Reyes as they continue overlooking the recruits do their exercises. He hasn't seen the man this laid-back in years. He must have some great faith in these Blackwatch people.

He breaks his attention as his son nears, “Ah, Hanzo, I've meant to speak with you. Come.” He gestures with two fingers, walking out of earshot from the others. “Are you feeling alright?” he asks first. “Genji told me that you returned home sick last night.”

“Did he?” The words escape his mouth. “Y-yes, I felt a bit feverish last night. I stepped out last night, I didn't want to cause any trouble. I'm fine now.”

“Good, good. Now, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?" 

The man glances to Reyes. “I don't trust that man one bit. I half expect that their organization wishes to use us, profit from us somehow. They're connected to something bigger. It's called Overwatch, I've been seeing them recently in the news. Some silly organization with self-proclaimed 'heroes'.” He crosses his arms, “I think they may be using this as an opportunity to expose us, bring our actions out into the light.”

“But, weren't we the ones who contacted them for help?” Hanzo's brows furrow. He's confused by his father's sudden worries. “We need more men, right? For during the festival?”

“That was the intention, yes. But now, I'm not so sure. I was expecting brainless thugs. Commander Reyes is smart. He's tactical. That's a dangerous quality in a man.”

“I don't understand, Father. Why are you so worried? Aren't you planning on sending Genji off with them? Why do so if you don't trust them?”

He places an arm around Hanzo's shoulder, “For the same reason that a few of Reyes's men are staying behind after the festival. Information. Dirt. You must keep your enemies close, Hanzo.”

“So, they're our enemies now?”

“Not yet. But I'm just being wary. They probably leapt at the chance to work alongside known gangsters. It'll be easy to dispose of us and cover their names should something go awry.” He sighs, “I wish it wasn't this way. You know I do. We'll get through the festival like we do every year, and then we'll see where this Blackwatch stands.”

He is somber when speaking about the festival. Rightfully so.

Every year at the same time, the Shimadas hold a festival. Most of the surrounding town is owned by them in some way, but instead, they open their doors to the public. It is a way to foster good-relations with the people and gain a hefty sum of donations. The gates swing open and the townspeople are greeted to lights, decorations, exquisite food, games, and celebrations. It is a sullen time, but they make the most of it.

It is held for Hanzo and Genji's mother. Their late-mother.

The woman was a well-loved and respected figure in the town. Everyone knew her. She was a girl from the country, she had no special upbringing or wealth, but she was beautiful and compassionate. Their father fell for her, despite the family's disapproval. He didn't care and married her anyway, bringing her to the Shimada estate to live among them. Unexpectedly, she proved herself very valuable to the family. She was a woman of the people. For the first time in many generations, the townspeople didn't see the Shimadas as violent gangsters living atop their pile of riches. She went out to the people, she helped them. She cared for the sick, the poor, the grieving.

She was an influential speaker and even gained popularity among the neighboring clans. Her presence alone gained the Shimadas allies from all over. They called her “The Doe Among Dragons”.

She fell ill shortly after giving birth to Genji.

This didn't stop her, she refused to stop. She went out to the people every morning and did what she could. Even the days when she was too sick to move from bed, she instructed her handmaidens to care for the villagers, instead of her. She loved her people, just as much as she loved her sons. 

One day she collapsed. The doctors couldn't save her, no matter how much money was thrown at them.

The funeral was an event attended by parties all across the country. There were more people than Hanzo had ever seen in his life, all crying and lamenting over his mother. He was still too young at the time to understand. Genji doesn't even remember her.

The festival is held in her honor, to celebrate her life and what she did for the people. 

It is a vulnerable time for the Shimada clan, and on many past occasions, their enemies have tried to take advantage of this. His father was wounded one year in a botched assassination attempt, and still carries the scars to prove it.

“I don't wish for any harm to come to you, or Genji. All I'm saying is, be careful. We do not know who to trust,” he warns.

The timing isn't ideal, but Hanzo did come over for a reason. “I was wondering...” he starts, “May I go into town?”

His father scowls, “We're a bit short-handed on guards at the moment, I'm not sure if it is wise to go alone.”

“I'll take someone with me. The boy, Jesse.”

The man almost laughs, “He's a Deadlock Rebel, you know. Half the reason I contacted Blackwatch is because I heard they had connections to the Rebels. I thought, you know, a friend of a friend. I didn't expect their connection to be some hick teenager.”

He considers Hanzo's proposition for a moment. He is quite capable of holding his own in a fight, and the cowboy is a great shot. He might not be bad as a temporary bodyguard.

“Fine, just don't stay out too late.”

Hanzo quickly puts a lid on his excited smile and bows his head thankfully.

He returns to Jesse, nudging him in the arm. “Come,” he says.

As they start to wander off, Reyes notices them, calling out to Jesse.

“McCree,” he calls, his tone commanding, “Where do you think you're going?”

Jesse stops, turns, and glances between Hanzo and Reyes.

The commander crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his weight on one leg. His head tilts to the side. “You're not trying to sneak off, are you?” His smirk is unnerving.

“Uhhh... Well, y'see. Hanzo wants to show me 'round town,” he explains.

“We're here for a job, McCree. I told you that we weren't sight seeing.” He doesn't seem mad, in fact, he sounds like like he's teasing. “You're saying that you'd rather look at flowers and pretty trees instead of train with the rest of your team.”

“Yeah?”

“Fair enough.”

Hanzo doesn't understand their dynamic.

Again, Reyes says something in that other language. Jesse nods to him and responds in the same. Is it Spanish? They converse briefly, it sounds civil enough.

Finally, judging by their town, they are done.

Jesse laughs lightly and Reyes dismisses him, turning his attention back to his troops. Hanzo can't ignore the glares that the cowboy receives. A phrase comes to his mind.

Teacher's pet.

–-

They venture off, Hanzo expertly navigating his home. It is maze-like, in ways. All the wooden walkways and zen gardens easily confuse newcomers. He leads Jesse past the wooden gazebo, surrounded on all sides by sakura trees. The petals drop slowly, floating on the wind. A few land on the brim of the cowboy's hat. He doesn't notice.

Hanzo tries to hide his smile.

Jesse is quiet now, once again enraptured by the scenery. He still tries to avoid walking on the pale petals covering the ground. His heavy boots and spurs clamor noisily. They starkly contract the gently ringing wind-chimes hanging down from the beams.

One of the front gates is cracked open, just enough for the servants to come and go. Its plenty of room for them to slip out. Before they leave, he hears a few of the patrolling guards talking into their headsets. From the sounds of it, Genji had already made his leave. They heave and sigh.

Really, the boy needed to start being more responsible. Sneaking out everyday doesn't leave a great impression, and the guards are obviously getting tired of it.

Genji can complain all he wants though, its his own damn fault that he gets dragged home.

But, Hanzo doesn't want to think about his brother. He has a much more interesting companion today.

–-

Stepping out of the estate is like stepping out of a time machine into another world. Beyond the walls in a bustling little town, high atop a cliff-side. Cars and scooters line the narrow streets, their power supplies humming as they hover just off the ground. The scent of cherry blossoms is fainter now, being overpowered by the smell of noodles and exhaust. It smells just like any other town.

The buildings are tightly packed, one atop the other. Even as up to date as it is, with the arcade and ramen shop, the area near the castle is still much older than the city down in the valley. Long winding roads lead up to the more 'historic' part of town. The Shimada estate resides in a perpetual state of tradition... with a few modern touches. It's jarring to step out and see skyscrapers faded far in the distance.

Jesse is wonder-struck. Hanzo fears he might hurt his neck with the way he whips it around to look at everything. It's nothing special to him, but to Jesse, it's other-worldly.

“I didn't get a good look at nothing when we first got here. Reyes hustled us along pretty quick,” he mentions. His face brightens, eyebrows rising and a smile pulling at his lips as something catches his eye. He scampers off, stopping in front of a vending machine beside Rikimaku. “Hey, I've heard'a these!”

Hanzo chuckles, “Well, it is a vending machine. They are not uncommon.”

“No, no, Japanese ones! I hear they sell-”

Hanzo interjects, “Women's underwear. Maybe in some places, but not here. The most interesting thing you'll find in there is melon soda or hot ginger ale. Even those are pretty standard.”

The look of disappointment on his face is amusing.

“Here, I'll buy us something.” Hanzo pulls a small draw-string pouch from inside his yukata. He opens it and pulls out a few coins. Sliding them into the coin-slot on the machine he presses the button below a bottle of green tea. The machine whirs and a bottle drops down into the tray. Retrieving it, he puts a few more coins in, allowing Jesse to choose something for himself. He examines all the options thoroughly. Luckily, most of the bottles and cans portray easy to understand pictures of their contents. He hums to himself in thought before making his choice. Iced Coffee.

The two take their beverages and find a nearby bench to sit on.

Jesse is oddly quiet. He cracks open his coffee and sips. He looks out ahead. “So, uh...” he finally mumbles. “Did I, uh, did I do somethin'? Yer bein' so nice to me n' all. I dunno if yer messin' with me.” He anxiously scratches at his scruff as he speaks. “I didn't mean to call ya pretty in front on yer dad. Sorry, I bet that was mighty awkward. I just can't think sometimes. I was just a little... overwhelmed. Everything is so different from what I know. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous. Shit. Am I just makin' things even more weird?” His words fly from his mouth faster than his lips can handle His accent is unrestrained and he nearly trips over his own tongue.

“Slow down, slow down,” Hanzo motions with his hands, easing the cowboy to a state of calm. “Why would I be messing with you? You gave me a compliment. There is no dishonor in that.”

“Yeah, but, I dunno.” He chews on his bottom lip, “Y'all are so proper and everything. I feel like such an idiot here.”

“As would I be in your country.”

Jesse laughs wryly. “Boy, if you ever came over to New Mexico, you'd be the most popular guy in town. A pretty face like yers? Everyone'd be all over you.” He pauses, groaning, and scratching the back of his head. He leans back, slumping against the wall behind them. “Shit. I did it again.” He knocks back a gulp of coffee, a feeble attempt to keep his mouth from running.

“Oh? Well what about you? Would you be all over me?” Hanzo smirks, partially knowing the answer already. The signs are all there. These aren't the typical nerves someone gets when meeting someone new of being in a new environment. These are the nerves of someone who is smitten.

Jesse looks away, pulling down his hat to cover his face. The petals on the brim flutter down onto his lap. “Only if ya wanted me to be...”

Hanzo scoots closer to the gunslinger, plucking a petal from atop his thigh, lazily letting it fall to the ground. “Interesting.” He'd play with him awhile longer.

It isn't the answer Jesse expects.

Hanzo continues to pick petals off his legs, one at a time. He becomes focused on it in a dreamy haze. He only breaks from it when he hears the cowboy speak.

“Hey, who's that kid? The one yer men are haulin' off.” He points to the direction of the arcade.

Hanzo looks up and rolls his eyes. Genji. “That would be my brother.”

Jesse's mood lightens and his nervousness is quickly forgotten. He whistles in awe. “Lookit that hair of his. Yer daddy let him do that?”

“No. Thus the reason he is being dragged back. He is grounded and insisted on sneaking out.”

Jesse laughs heartily, his chest swells, “My kind of guy!” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he calls out to the younger Shimada, “You get'em lil' buddy! Stick it to the man!”

Genji stops his flailing, obviously an act. He flashes a peace-sign at the two before resuming his over-acted struggle. He whines in an entirely childish way, “Look, Hanzo is over there! I want to see my brother! Let me go! Hanzoooo~” It's no way for a sixteen year old to act.

Hanzo groans, grumbling to himself as he stands up and makes his way over to the now paused guards. As much as he doesn't want to, he does have a soft spot for his little brother. He told himself time and time again that he wasn't going to intervene anymore, yet here he is. “I'll take over from here,” he tells the guard as he sets Genji on his feet. “Tell me father that I am supervising him.”

“Master Hanzo, I don't think it's-”

While Hanzo is significantly smaller than the guard he stands firmly. The man shrinks into himself. The Shimada gaze alone can bring grown men to tears. “Tell my father that I am supervising him,” he repeats, putting heavy emphasis on each word.

“Y-yes sir.”

The guards straighten out their suits and walk back to the estate, leaving the three young ones on the street.

“Hanzo~!” Genji croons, flopping onto his brother's shoulders, “My hero!”

He crosses his arms, “Do not expect it again. You vouched for me last night, this is my repayment.”

“Aw, why do you have to be so serious about everything, brother?” He elbows him in the ribs, “Lighten up! You're going to scare off your American friend.” He beams and addresses Jesse, “Hello, by the way. I'm Genji, the cooler brother, as you can probably tell.”

“That's enough, Genji...” Hanzo warns. Honestly, he's more afraid of his brother scaring off Jesse with his over-enthusiasm. Genji could be a lot to handle. The poor guy already feels out of place.

But, Jesse is confident. He laughs and extends a hand, “Pleasure to meet ya! Name's Jesse.” Genji excitedly shakes his hand.

“You're like a real like cowboy yeah? Cool.”

Hanzo sneers, his nose wrinkles up. What does Genji think he's doing? He's being more friendly that Hanzo particularly cares for. He knows. He _knows._ His spine prickles as he sees Genji reach for Jesse's arm. He loops it around and begins to pull him, leading him towards the arcade.

“C'mon, lemme show you the arcade, I'm sure you'll love it!” He grins. Jesse lumbers along with him, just going with the flow.

“Genji,” Hanzo warns again, more stern this time. This feeling is unlike anything he's felt before. Jealously surges through him. His chest feels tight. He feels short of breath. Is he even breathing? He can't tell.

Genji tugs on Jesse's arm again, paying no mind to his brother.

“Genji. Stop,” he growls through his teeth. He needs to go. He needs to leave. He's doing this on purpose. “Go home. Now.”

His bright head turns, sticking out his bottom lip. “But I just left home!” He releases Jesse's arm, alleviating Hanzo slightly. “I just want to show our friend around!” He latches on again. Hanzo's blood boils.

“Genji.” His eyes are deadly serious as he stares him down. A pulsating sensation courses through his left arm. When he can't control his emotions, the dragons grow restless.

Is is as if something finally clicks in the boy's head. Perhaps his own dragon could sense the disapproval of its kin. Maybe it is nothing more than an inexplicable fraternal bond. Whatever the case, he backs off.

The younger dragon knows better than to take what is rightfully its elder's.

“Fine, fine.” His head lowers in defeat, peeking up at his brother. “Have it your way. You're no fun.” He scoffs and runs his hand through his bright green locks. He's annoyed, but knows to respect Hanzo's authority.

Jesse holds his tongue. He doesn't quite understand what's happening, and it's not his place to speak up. He was an only child after all. Maybe its just a weird sibling thing.

Hanzo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Is he being too harsh? “Just... go home. I'll explain to Father later. Stay out of trouble.” He shoos him with a wave of his hand.

Genji bows his head, begrudgingly, and trots off. He scales up a nearby post and hops from rooftop to rooftop, bounding across the tiles he leaps through the opening high above the gates. His green head disappears from view.

They both watch as he bounds off, eyes and faces following him. “So,” Jesse says, “You good?” He turns his gaze first. He pushes up his hat, lightening the shadow on his face. Hanzo can see him better now. He's concerned.

“Yes, I'm fine. It's fine. Let's go.”

“You sure? Ya seem pretty frazzled.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a now-empty cigarette carton. “Ah, shoot. Guess I ran out.” He frowns, crushing the paper box in his fist, stepping aside to toss it in a garbage bin beside the vending machine. He does the same with his coffee can. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

Hanzo's face heats up. Now he's the blundering fool. He brushes his hair out of his face and mutters quietly, “It is nothing.”

“It ain't nothin'.” He leans down, lowering himself Hanzo's height. His face in painfully close. “Yer upset.”

He's not wrong.

Hanzo distracts himself, twisting the top from his bottle of green tea, and bringing it to his lips. He drinks it down until he can think of something to say. “You need more cigarettes, yes?” He closes up the bottle. “I will buy you some, come with me.” Promptly, he begins to walk away. He knows a nearby shop that will have what they need.

He jumps as his wrist is caught and he is halted. “Woah now, hold up. I don't like bein' in dept to folks.” He releases as Hanzo turns around and gives him his undivided attention. “I don't have any money or anything, but, y'know. I wanna pay ya back somehow.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Hanzo is immediately interrupted.

“I won't take no for an answer.”

The atmosphere around them lightens. Hanzo lets out a held breath, just barely smiling. “Fine then.” He raises his chin, resting a curled index finger beneath it, as if in deep thought. “I will need to to think of my price, however.”

This Jesse McCree. He has an unusual charm. Normally, he wouldn't be attracted to such a foolhardy stranger. Was it the compliment? Offhand, meaningless; Jesse probably meant nothing by it. It was simply an observation. He would receive compliments all the time from the servants or women in town that he is familiar with.

“Young Master Hanzo, you look handsome today!”

“Master Hanzo, you're looking just like your father.”

“You have your mother's eyes, Master Hanzo.”

They are all suck-ups.

Jesse didn't even know who he was. He could have been a commoner, or a servant, and it didn't matter to him. He was just saying what came to his head; the first thing he could think of.

“ _Yer prettier than a parade float on the Fourth'a July.”_

He plods along behind Hanzo lazily. His hands are in his pockets, lacking anything better to do with them. He flicks his tongue over his dry lips, aching for the taste of tobacco. Though, the sights do keep him a bit distracted from his dependency.

They talk casually as they walk. Jesse comments on the differences between Japan and America. Most of what he says doesn't surprise Hanzo, but it is interesting nonetheless. He enjoys hearing him talk, even if he never shuts up. He drawl of his voice is relaxing. When he's not blabbering on anxiously, he speaks slowly, easily. His voice is deep with a mellow resonance. It vibrates pleasantly in Hanzo's ears.

-–

The shop they arrive at is ordinary looking. It's some sort of convenience store. The doors slide open and a little chime jingles as they step inside. The air conditioning is blasting; the covers of the various magazines stacked up on the shelves flap in the draft. Refrigerators line one wall, stocked with a colorful assortment of bottles and cans. Its an older store, it's been there ever since Hanzo was young. Behind the counter is the elderly shopkeeper. He smiles at the two and bows, welcoming them as they enter.

Hanzo waltzes straight up to the counter and speaks to the man. Jesse meanders through the shop, looking at everything it has to offer. He pokes around through some of the snacks and sweets, smirking or grimacing at the different varieties. He eventually joins Hanzo, where he is speaking to the shopkeeper. He notices the cigarettes displayed behind him. There's no brand he recognizes. The shop is a bit too small to carry imports.

Honestly, the brand doesn't matter much to him. He just needs something to satisfy himself. He's used to whatever Blackwatch decides to issue anyway.

Hanzo turns and asks, “Any preference?”

Jesse simply shrugs. “Eh, not really. Whatever's good.”

Hanzo faces the clerk again, points to a few options, and nods as he pulls down a few options. Setting them on the counter-top, the two converse again. Pulling out his coin-purse he sets the money down and takes the cartons- three of them. He hands them to Jesse, smiling. “If you don't like them, I'll buy you different ones.”

“Hah, I'm gonna be owing ya all sorta of favors.” He accepts the packs and fits them into his pockets. He tips his hat to the shopkeeper, mumbling a “Thanks,” under his breath. He pulls his hat down a bit, hiding the tint of his cheeks, embarrassed that he can't properly thank the man in a language he understands.

A quiet comes over them as they leave and store and make the decision to return to the estate. Jesse pulls out one of the new cartons, unpeels the plastic wrapping, and pops out a cigarette.

“Is it okay?” Hanzo asks as Jesse lights it up and takes a drag.

He holds it between his fingers, pulling it from his mouth and examining it. “Honestly, it's better than any of the stuff Reyes procures for us. I knew he'd been holdin' out on me.” He blows out a puff of smoke, the smell lingers in the air. To Hanzo, it smells just the same as the other ones.

“By the way, I've decided what I want from you,” he mentions as they near the front gates.

“Oh?” He nudges up his hat. “And what might that be? Didn't expect ya to figure it out so quickly.”

Hanzo smirks, “Meet with me again tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh...” Jesse looks to the side. He tugs on his bandanna. “I mean, I'd be happy to, but, y'know... Reyes. He might not like me skippin' out on him again.”

Hanzo feigns a look of hurt. “I thought you were a man of your word.”

Jesse sputters, “Hey now! Don't go accusin' me of bein' a liar!” He's conflicted. He doesn't know what he should do or say. On one hand, Hanzo does excite him, but the thought of being scolded by Reyes isn't a happy one. But, maybe it'll be worth a few lashings.

“We'll meet at night then.”

“At night? Ain't that a bit... well... suspicious?”

Hanzo's chin rises, he fights at the urge to grin impishly. He enjoys toying with the cowboy. “Why would it be suspicious?” He tilts his head to the side, as if truly questioning Jesse's words.

“Well... I mean... the implications of meetin' someone at night are usually, y'know."

“Jesse McCree, who do you take me for? I am the heir to the Shimada clan.” He decides to take a page from Reyes's book. He quite enjoyed something he'd said yesterday. “I'm not one of your country bimbos.”

With this, his tawny cheeks flush a deep crimson. “O-ok. Just hangin' out then? I can do that.”

Oh how Hanzo intends to make him suffer. Isn't that a trope of some kind? He'd seen something like that on television. Genji watches a lot of anime. In those, a tough-looking girl would tease and taunt her love interest, all the while denying that she had any affection for them. It was silly. She'd make a bento, claiming that she simply made too much and wanted to share. It was nonsense, brain-melting garbage. It isn't difficult to portion out a bento box. Why were these pig-tailed heroines making such a deal of it?

Well, he certainly isn't going to style his hair into twin-tails and make Jesse lunch boxes; but play with him, that he can do.

–-

The two depart from one another with short goodbyes. Jesse goes off to find the rest of his team and Hanzo returns home to look for Genji.

It is only mid-day, but Genji is already locked away in his room. Hanzo raps his knuckles on the wooden door-frame, sliding the screens open before his brother even has a chance to respond.

“What do you want, Hanzo?” he asks, backing facing the door. He sits on a cushion in front of a small table in the center of his room. He doesn't look away from his game, continuing to tap the buttons fervently. “If you're here to scold me about sneaking out, don't bother. I'm sure to get an earful from Father.”

Hanzo steps into the room. He softly touches Genji on the shoulder as he circles the table, taking seat on the other side to face him.

Genji folds his gaming device and sets it down on the table. He leans forward and props his chin in his hands. “What?” He raises a brow.

“Explain yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Genji says, letting out a sigh.”

Hanzo leans in as well. His fingers interlock and he rests his chin upon them. “You know exactly what I mean. You were coming onto him.”

Genji sits back and huffs, “Oh come on Hanzo. Are we really discussing this?” He rolls his eyes dramatically, “I was playing around.”

“He's mine.”

“Seriously? Stop acting like such a weirdo, Hanzo.” He can't say he isn't intrigued by his brother's sudden interest in this boy. It's not like him at all to so eagerly pursue someone. “They're only here for the festival, just a few are staying behind. The rest are leaving and you'll never see him again.”

Hanzo sneers, “I'm well aware.”

“Well, what are you going to do then?”

He pauses, his lips pull thin, “I haven't figured that out yet.”

Genji chuckles, “If you ask me, you have an ideal situation.” He rolls his shoulders and continues, “Woo him all you like, and then when it comes time for him to leave, he just will. There are no hard feelings. No awkward breakup.”

Hanzo realizes now, that is brother is truly a terrible person. A heart breaker.

“I don't intend to be false with him. I like him. I... enjoy his company.” His hard expression weakens.

Genji lets out a loud, fake gasp. “Wow, I can't believe my ears. You? Actually enjoying somebody's company?”

He wants to lean over the table and smack him upside his obnoxious green head. “I am not as cold as you think I am.”

Genji counters almost instantly, “True, not if the cowboy is warming you.” He should find a better use for his snappy intellect.

“I'm done with you.” Hanzo grumbles and stands up. He's had enough of his brother's antics. “You're joining me tomorrow for practice. It's your punishment.” He holds up a hand to halt Genji's rebuttal. “Perhaps you will learn to keep your hands off of what is mine.” Swiftly he exits, but not before hearing Genji's final remark.

“Oh come _on._ ”

He smiles to himself, the thought makes his heart beat fast in his chest. His body feels hot just thinking about it. This cowboy has captivated him in a way never knew possible. He craves the scent of him; tobacco, leather, and sweat. It had only been a day, but Jesse left him wanting more and more of him. He wants to explore every aspect of him. All would come with time, he supposes. He can't wring all the secrets from him too quickly. One's secrets are what makes them interesting.

His gut churns in both excitement and hunger. He'll make himself sick if he keeps going on like this. He'll make himself some food and perhaps do some light practice later. His mind is getting clouded, so some meditation might be good as well. He couldn't let Jesse get him too hot-and-bothered, at least not yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I have no idea how guns/shooting ranges work, but I tried my best. Yolo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been recovering from surgery, but I finally was able to sit down and write fairly comfortably, so here it is!
> 
> Just in case anyone is bothered by it, this chapter does have a bit of lewd/sexual harass-y language towards the middle, but it'll be the only chapter to have such.

The sound of clacking wood against wood pours out from the dojo. The brothers 'practice swords thwack against each other as they spar.

Hanzo has the upper-hand. He has Genji backed into a corner after blocking a poorly aimed blow. His sword is leveled at Genji's throat. The boy raises his hands above his head, dropping his own weapon to the ground.

“Fine, fine, you win,” he surrenders.

“You're losing on purpose.” Hanzo steps back, lowering his sword. “Come. We're going again.”

He groans. “Hanzoooo, come on. We've been at this for an hour.”

“And we'll continue until you beat me.” He rests the tip of his sword on the ground, propping it against his hip and he reaches up the fix his ponytail. Tightening the hair-tie, he does what he can to push his bangs from his forehead. His skin is moistened with a fine layer of sweat. His keikogi is once again let down around his waist. The sweat gleams against his bare arms; his tattoo almost looks as if it's shining.

Genji picks up his sword and stomps forward, back into position. His shoulder hand low as he slouches.

Like a rotten child, Hanzo thinks.

He then takes up a lazy stance, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

“Genji. You must take this seriously,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you are to help me rule the Shimada clan, you must keep up with your training.”

“But I don't _want_ to rule the Shimada clan. That's your dream, brother.” He looks away, eyes downcast. “Besides, Father is sending me away, remember? He doesn't think I'm worthy enough.”

“Then prove him wrong. Fight me. Win,” Hanzo commands. “I know you are a brilliant swordsman. You have a natural talent I can never attain. If you hone yourself, no one will be able to stop you.”

Genji fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Hanzo knows he gets discouraged by their father's words. He himself lives as the rightful heir, while Genji is the prodigal son. Is it fair to him, simply being born later? Its not his fault. It could have just as easily been the other way round. Hanzo doesn't wish to rule alone. He wants his brother by his side. He too is a Shimada; a dragon.

He drops into an offensive stance, his hand hovering over the sword at his hip. Without giving Genji any more warning, he dashes forward. He draw the blade and swings horizontally. Genji snaps to attention, quickly deflecting it to the side. Hanzo swings again, unrelenting with his assault. It is as much as Genji can do to knock away all the blows.

Left. Right. Left again. Up Up. He blocks each one. When he puts his mind to it, it really isn't difficult. While he'd say that video games trained his hand-eye coordination, Hanzo knows better. He knows that Genji, if he really tried, could easily best him. But, he doesn't try. He doesn't train. His talents and natural skill go to waste. Hanzo is hailed as the warrior of the family; skilled in swordplay, archery, and hand-to-hand combat.

“Defeat me!” he roars, each blow hitting harder than the last. “Show me what you can do!”

Genji pants, doing everything in his power to back away and deflect the onslaught.

He's doing it again. Dammit. He's backing himself into a corner again.

“You will never amount to anything if you don't _try_!” Hanzo grunts. His footwork is impeccable. He worked for many years to get as good as he is. He had to toil through blood, sweat, and tears. His fingers bled, his body ached, his flesh bruised, but still he didn't stop. He had mastered the art. He knows techniques and tricks one could only dream of. But, perhaps, that is his downfall. He puts himself through rigorous routines, making sure he has them down perfect, but he never takes the chance to improvise. He does everything by the book.

He doesn't expect Genji to knock his sword clean out of his hands.

The boy growls, tiring of Hanzo's voice. Whipping his sword up vertically, he knocks Hanzo's, sending it flying across the room.

Hanzo backpedals in panic, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. He swears he sees a faint green glow around Genji's sword. His dragon. It doesn't show itself often.

While Hanzo has near complete control of his two, Genji's is wild. It will appear when his emotions are compromised or he is distressed. For the most part, his mood stays fairly mild. He's laid back and doesn't lose his temper easily. He's rarely sad or upset.

“You're acting like Father!” he shouts, looming over his toppled brother. His mouth is pulled taut, his brows scrunch up. “I'm always trying! To impress him. To impress you.” His voice cracks, sounding as if he could cry, “I try so hard, but it's never good enough.” The green glow begins to coil around the blade. He pressed the sword under Hanzo's chin.

Hanzo isn't startled, and laughs lightly, “Genji. You beat me.”

The glow fades away, Genji relaxes his arm. He backs up, not bothering to help his brother back to his feet. “You're an asshole, Hanzo.” He turns on his heels and returns his sword to the rack. “We're done here, right? Or do you have more plans to berate me?” A rhetorical question, he doesn't wait for an answer. After slipping on his shoes at the door, he's off.

Hanzo pushes himself off his back and looks to where his sword had flown. Too far away. He wouldn't have been able to reach it, even if he was serious about fighting back. What Genji had in skill, he lacked in discipline. He often left himself wide open or let his footwork get sloppy. But, his sheer finesse with a blade almost made up for it.

He crawls to his feet and brushes himself off, retrieving his sword, he puts it away as well. There's still plenty of time before he's supposed to meet with Jesse. He isn't quite sure how to fill it. He doesn't want to just drop in and interrupt whatever the Blackwatch boys are up to. He's sure his father wouldn't mind him spying on them, but it's not something he really wants to do. He isn't as distrustful as his old man.

In the meantime, he heads back home. His skin is slick and covered in sweat. Even though it is only midday, a bath might be necessary. He raises his arm; nope, a bath is _definitely_ necessary.

–-

Reyes and the gang are marching around as he passes. They walk the grounds, examining the terrain. His father is with them, sticking near Reyes and chatting. They look to be having a good time, smiles are on both their faces. He doesn't see Jesse with them, not that he'd really want to see him in his current condition. He hopes to slip past without anyone noticing him. Nearly making it, he passes by the group entirely before he hears his father call to him from behind.

“Hanzo! Come here!”

He stops, lolling his head back and rolling his eyes. He turns and obediently follows orders, however. “Yes?” he asks, “What is it?”

He smiles, giving Reyes a pat on the back, “Gabriel doesn't believe my claims about you. He does not believe you are as skilled a warrior as I say.”

“He can believe what he wishes.”

The man laughs, “No, no, Hanzo. Let us show him, yes?” He smirks at Reyes, stroking his beard quizzically. “I have a thought, if you will.”

“Let's hear it, I'm game,” Reyes chuckles. His smile is strangely affable. Even with his dark, brooding exterior, he doesn't seem all bad. He's intimidating and scary, sure, but maybe it's an act?

Continuing to stroke his greyed beard, he proposes, “My brightest pupil, Hanzo, against your brightest.”

“What, like a death-match? As much as I'd love to see something like that, I don't want your son to die.” He cocks a brow up with interest, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hanzo scoffs.

“I am suggesting a contest of sorts. Target practice,” he explains. “My boy is a master of archery.”

“Hah, fine then.” Reyes side-eyes Hanzo, “You think you're pretty good, huh?” Resting his hands on his hips, he leans back, stretching and cracking his spine. “Alright then. Win or lose, it's fine. McCree would use his ass handed to him.”

Hanzo can't say he's surprised. Seeing Jesse's skills just once, he could already tell that he was far more skilled than any of the other Blackwatch boys. Not just any person could land six consecutive shots so reliably. It is an interesting proposition, and once he can say he's excited for. He shrugs, “I am willing.”

His father booms, slapping both Reyes and Hanzo on the back, “It is decided then! Shall we agree on tomorrow?” The man loves games. For as serious as he is, he can't help himself when it comes to wagers or gambles. He cheats at most of them, which may partially be the reason he is so fond of them.

“Doesn't matter to me,” Reyes says, “I'm not the one doing it. I'll tell the kid.”

\--

Hanzo excuses himself, not wishing to fester in his own sweat any longer as he can feel it growing cold and sticky. The two men carry on with their banter. He knows his father's ways. He'll try to get as close as possible and uncover whatever secrets he can. He did it all the time; most just chalked it up to him being a very friendly person. Reyes isn't dumb though, he's surely playing along as well.

He ponders this as he walks home. The two are very alike in many ways. Bother are frighteningly likable. Reyes, albeit a bit rough around the edges, lightens up quite a bit when not throwing orders around. He seems like the type to smile in your face as he slits your throat; or the type to act like a best friend, only to betray you when you least expect it. That is somewhat worrying. He does seem to have a softer side though, it becomes overwhelmingly apparent when he speaks to Jesse. There's no spite in his voice, even when he scolds him. It's more fatherly. Hanzo wonder, for a moment, if Reyes has children. Frankly, he can't imagine the man with a cute little wife and kids back home. As likable as he is, he seems married to his work.

His father probably gives off the same vibe to strangers. Outside the Shimada estate walls, he is quiet, calculating. Friendly, yes, but never willing to really open up. Marriage among neighboring clans is common. Arrangements are constantly being made with babies who aren't even born yet. His father was expected to wed before he was born. Marriage is an expectation, but no one is forced to make friends, but it is encouraged.

He had told the brothers stories about his youth. He would talk about his own father, their grandfather. Apparently he was a scary individual, very strict, no nonsense. He didn't get along with others. He died soon after Hanzo was born from old age. His father would laugh about it sometimes, saying “I am surprised he didn't get himself killed before then. He was not in the habit of making friends.”

It's something their father stressed. Make more friends than enemies, but keep them equally close. He told them about some of his greatest kills and heists. He spoke easily about them. He harbored no hard feelings towards any of his targets; it was simply a job. He'd had to kill people that he had considered friends. He told Hanzo time and again to not let his feelings interfere with his duty, but would admit that those were his hardest marks of all. Even in death, one must treat their enemy with respect. That simple practice had saved him many times from backlash.

Hanzo was yet to take a life. He is trained to be a killer, but the moment had yet to arise. It is curious, though, if the Shimadas are trained assassins, why do they have so many guards?

They day will come soon enough, that he must take a life. He can't say he's looking forward to it. Even though it is part of his job, his father tells him that it's never easy. He wants to push it from his mind as long as he can.

–-

Arriving home, Genji is nowhere to be found. He must have gone off to sulk somewhere. At least the bath would be free. He heads straight there, peeling off bits of his clothing. He's alone in the house, no one is there to care about where he decides to expose himself.

He draws the bath, letting it fill up while he lather his hair and washes the sweat away from his skin. He combs his fingers through his wet, sudsy hair, untangling any knots and making sure the shampoo really sets in. Unlike Genji, he's quite fond of his raven mane.

He stops the faucet when the tub fills to the top. He rinses himself off completely before stepping in the balmy water. The room fills with steam and the air hangs heavy and thick. He closes his eyes and lays back, letting the heat knead away any soreness from his muscles. The warm water and gentle drip of the faucet lulls him into sleep. He dozes off in the tub far more often than he cares to admit.

The water is significantly cooler by the time to comes back to his senses.

His fingertips are pruned and wrinkly from their time soaking. His skin his bright red from the temperature. He stands up, careful not to slip on the wet tiles as he steps out of the bath. He drains the water and grabs one of the fluffy white towels hanging nearby. He wraps it around his waist and takes another smaller one to dry his hair. Hopefully the house is still empty. He cracks open the door and steam billows out into the hallway. He checks left, then right before escaping to his room.

Judging by the sunlight, maybe an hour or so has passed. He dresses in a sky blue yukata; a small delicate pattern decorates it. He doesn't wear them for any other reason than that they are incredibly comfortable. Genji tends to wear more modern fashion; jeans, t-shirts, and the like. Hanzo finds them restrictive, especially the tight skinny-legged pants that his brother insists are 'in style'. On certain occasions a suit is fine. Normally there's nothing that requires much mobility in the instances that he wears one.

After dressing, he heads to the kitchen to get something light to eat. He can't go around wooing cowboys on an empty stomach. Its about dinner time anyways, surely whatever Reyes has his team doing is done for the day. Even if they aren't, Hanzo has no qualms about stealing Jesse away. Maybe it's selfish, but he wants Jesse as much as he can have him.

He eats quickly, not wanting to waste any more time. He has a cowboy to find. Where on earth did his father set them up anyway? The most likely answer is one of the guest houses, to he tries there first. His assumptions are correct, finding a few of the Blackwatch members sitting around outside, smoking or playing cards. Jesse isn't among them.

Nervousness comes over him. He isn't familiar with these people and they don't seem as easy-going as Jesse is. They look up as he approaches them. He tries to remain as calm and collected as possible. They nudge each other and whisper. He hears some laughter, as well as a lewd whistle.

Animals. All of them.

“Where is Jesse?” he asks a woman leaning up against a support beam. He stands a few feet from her, hands down as his sides. She's tall, taller than he is. Her hair is cut short and a few scars nick her face. She's seen battle before, that's for sure. From the way the others surround her, she seems to be of a somewhat high rank, at the very least higher than those around her. She's fairly muscular, but her stance makes her seem even bigger.

She grins, but it is anything but welcoming. “I dunno. Probably off kissing Reyes's ass.” She looks back to her squad as they erupt with laughter. She chuckles along with them.

Another speaks up form the back, “Yeah, that or sucking his cock.”

More laughter.

“Why do you wanna know?” She shifts her position, folding her arms and lifting her chin. “You got a beef with him? If so, step in line kid.”

He doesn't appreciate their crass behavior. Obviously they don't like Jesse, that's apparent enough. But with what reasoning? Is it because Reyes favors him? It is hardly a reason to denote such hostility. Compared to them, he's just a child. Most of the members of this group have to be at least 10 years his senior.

“My reasoning is my own. I do not have to explain myself to the likes of you.” Hanzo can feel their eyes on him. He glares right on back. A dragon does not shy away from a fight. He'll take them on if he has to.

She raises her hands up, feigning fear, “Oh no, the little guy is angry at us. What are we gonna do?” Her fiendish smile soon returns, “Look kid, we don't care that you're the heir to this place or whatever. We don't answer to you. We answer to Reyes.” She leans over, matching his height, “You better get out of here. You're too pretty, these boys might not be able to handle themselves.”

  
There's that word again, “pretty”, but from her lips it's nothing but disgusting and sour. His initial wariness of them melts away completely. He doesn't have to worry, they're just thugs. He can deal with thugs. Without a leader they fall apart. This woman hardly fits the role. She throws her weight around, but she doesn't have the mind for it.

“This is my home,” he answers, stepping in to close the distance. “You are the ones on my territory and I will be treated with respect.”

She doesn't back down. She isn't phased in the slightest.

“There is a guard posted on every corner of this estate. You may not see them, but they see you. We are watching at all times. If you dare lay a finger on me, I can tell you, it will promptly be removed.” A small bluff. They don't know any better.

The woman raises a brow. Her squad eggs her on. “Oh yeah? If they're so good, then why were we called in to protect your asses?” She grabs the front of his yukata and yanks him closer. “You think you're so fucking tough? Living here in a fucking castle? Get over yourself, princess.” She shoves him away, causing him to stumble a bit on the uneven gravel.

Oh, so she does want a fight. He can take her on in hand-to-hand, no problem. He knows how to take down someone bigger than him. If they all group up, however, it might be cause for concern. There's also the fact that they all appear to be armed.

The tension is cut as a voice calls from the distance and footsteps approach quickly. “Hey! Hanzo!”

Jesse runs towards them, barreling right into the woman harassing him. He knocks her to the side and braces himself as she swings back at him. “Leave him alone! He ain't done nothin' to ya!” She pushes him back, but he's able to take it.

“Well, if it isn't the little cowpoke himself. Sucking up to Reyes again?” She cocks her head to the side, audibly popping her neck. She cracks her tattered knuckles one finger at a time as her hands rest to the side.

A voice again chimes in from the back, “Sucking off Reyes you mean.”

They laugh.

Jesse frowns. He's probably heard this banter hundreds of times. From the look on his face, it's nothing new. He takes Hanzo's wrist into his hand, pulling him away. “Let's go.” His eyes aren't focused on anything in particular, just looking away. “These guys ain't worth yer time.”

A chorus of “Oooooh”s travel through the ranks. At this point, some of the others who had been minding their own business become interested. Jesse whisks him away.

The noise stop suddenly, replaced with shushing and one voice whispering, “Oh shit.”

Hanzo looks over his shoulder, seeing a smiling Reyes come up to the group. They all immediately shut up, bolting to attention. They look like a proper regiment, standing straight and tall. “Who's getting sucked off now?” He paces in front of them, “Certainly not me, I can tell you that much.” He forces out a fake laugh, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. He sighs heavily, as is he'd heard a great joke. “How do you all feel about late night drills? Good? Good.” His face goes serious, “Get your sorry asses in gear, you're doing laps. C'mon.” They're all quiet now. He plans to run them ragged. He shouts, calling out to Jesse as they get further away, “Don't think I forgot about you McCree! You better be ready for tomorrow, I don't need another embarrassment on my hands.”

Hanzo's mouth twitches with the tiniest hint of a smirk. He wasn't so sure about Reyes at first, but now he's liking him more and more. He's a tough, but fair leader.

–-

Once vacated from the guest quarters, Hanzo directs Jesse where to go. He wants somewhere private, where they can just talk, away from the prying eyes of the guards. He wasn't completely lying before, they are always watching. He thinks of a small training area. No one ever goes there anymore. They'd modified the main practice range, so there was no need for it. As children, he and Genji would play there, having pretend fights with sticks for swords. It's tucked away, overlooking a cliff. It probably wasn't the safest place to let two boys play unsupervised.

The sun is getting low in the sky, but from the open view they can still see the skyline. Red clouds float in the air and everything is cast with a warm glow and deep purple shadows. There are some targets set up right along the fence; hay bales propped up on stands. He doesn't see it at first, with the intense back lighting, and his attentions elsewhere, but a few shuriken are lodged inside them. Does Genji actually come out here to practice?

“They didn't hurt ya did they?” Jesse asks. “That was Natasha, Nat...she-” he pauses, “She uh, doesn't really like me too much.” He scratches the back of his head before reaching into his pockets. Cigarettes. He really does smoke a lot. Lucky for Hanzo, he's become addicted to the smell.

“I don't think she liked me very much either,” Hanzo says, holding the length of his yukata as he sits down on the ground. He pats the space next to him.

Jesse takes the offer and sits as well. “Yeah... she was sorta Reyes's pride and joy before I came along. It's not my fault though, I don't have a damn clue why he treats me like he does.” He takes a drag. “He was the one who recruited me, as much as he'll say I'm a pain in the ass or something. They wanted to throw me in prison, but for some reason only God knows, he bailed me out.”

“Because you are young?” Hanzo suggests. He wants to hear more of Jesse's story. It's the really the first time he's opened up so much.

“Hell if I know. Some of them Deadlock boys weren't too much older than me. Now they're all in prison, probably for the rest of their lives. Goddamn, if I don't feel guilty about it.” Another puff of smoke. “They probably hate me just as much as Blackwatch does. Probably think I'm some sorta lucky punk or something.” He rubs the side of his cheek, Hanzo can hear the stubble brush against his palm. “But, yeah. Reyes took me under his wing and that stirred up all sorts 'a shit.”

“What were you doing in Deadlock to begin with?” he asks. It is strange that someone so young was involved with such a notorious gang. They didn't leave the United States, but the name definitely circled around the clans in Japan. Even if his father wasn't one of their suppliers, he surely would have still heard the name.

“Fell into some hard times. My pops left me and Momma when I was just a baby. She said he named me, then packed his bags and skedaddled. I needed to take care of her, she's such a little thing. She's a school teacher, but that don't bring in no money.” He chuckles, “Kinda funny really. She's so smart, and then I'm such a dumb ass. Guess I take after my pops.”

“I don't think you're a,” Hanzo weighs the word on his tongue, he isn't used to such language, “dumb ass.”

“Well, yer the first.” He inhales deeply, quickly burning up his cigarette. “I was stupid. I tried to get some money by stealin' it.” He holds up his hands to the sky, opening them in an arc, “Picture it: Me, probably about thirteen years old, skinny, scrawny, not a single hair on my chest. I found my Momma's gun that she kept for protection. I took it and went down to the store. I put a bandanna around my face and held that gun up to the clerk with my shaky lil' hands.”

Hanzo can picture it, and it's hilarious. “And what happened?” He urges on.

“Well, whaddya think happened? I got my ass whupped! Goddamn everyone in town knows everybody! The clerk just sighs and says, 'Jesse McCree you put that gun down and run on home to yer Momma before I call the sheriff.' She done gave me the biggest beatin' of my life when I got home.”

Hanzo covers his mouth with a hand as he laughs. He doesn't mean to be rude, but the thought of it is so funny to him. It's unlike anything he's heard before.

Jesse's face brightens up at the laughter, a toothy grin beams across his face, and soon he is laughing as well, “And then my dumb ass, I go and try it again two days later at the place across the street. That time they did let the sheriff come get me. Gave me a night in the slammer to scare me. And, well, it all goes on from there. I met one of the Deadlock boys, me, bein' an impressionable youth, went along with his offer. He said I could get rich if I joined up with 'em. So, I did. They taught me how to shoot a gun, how to knock back a shot of whisker, how to drive. All that shit. All the money I got, I have to my Momma. She never asked questions, God bless 'er. I think deep down though, she knew.”

“That is an honorable cause, nevertheless.” Hanzo plucks the last bit of remaining cigarette from Jesse's lips, bringing it to his own and taking the last drag. He still coughs. “Can you teach me how to shoot a gun?”

He's already going for another cigarette by the time Hanzo finishes speaking. “Oh, you wanna try taking me on with a gun tomorrow? I kinda figured you'd go with a bow or somethin', but whatever.” He smiles, putting the carton back into his pocket as he stand up. “I can show ya a thing or two. C'mon.” He extends his hand down to Hanzo, helping him to his feet.

He draws the revolver from his left side and places it in Hanzo's hands. It's heavier than he expected. “Now, this one is Lawbreaker. The other,” he pats the holster on his right side, “is Peacekeeper.”

“What is the difference?”

“Lawbreaker, he's a bit tamer. He don't got as much kick-back and he's less finicky on the reload. Peacekeeper, whoo boy,” he chuckles and looks down at the gun fondly. They're like his children, “She's a wild one. Much harder to handle.”

He holds the gun how he assumes it's held, but is quickly corrected. One of Jesse's large hands guides his own.

“Now, unless yer actively shootin', ya wanna keep yer finger off the trigger. Hold it like this,” he moves his pointer finger in demonstration. His body presses up against Hanzo's from behind, almost engulfing him in it.

He can feel the heat from his body. His carbon chest plate rests against his back. There isn't really another way to show someone proper form through. Even mirroring someone isn't going to be perfect. Literally guiding the body and teaching the muscles is the best way- though he's not sure if the hand languidly running up his flank is entirely necessary. It is welcome, however. It moves to bend his elbow, placing his other hand below the butt of the gun. “Puttin' yer other hand here, uh... it's good for keeping everything nice n' steady.” His chin is nearly resting on Hanzo's shoulder, hovering only inches above.

“And now I shoot?”

“Once yer all lined up, yeah. Just keep yourself loose. Don't tense up. Yer gonna get some kick-back, so just keep yer grip.” He frees Hanzo from his touch, but doesn't go far. He can still feel the heat.

He knows how to aim with a bow, eyes open, looking ahead. It isn't too different with a firearm. Holding the gun just below his eye-level, he pulls the trigger. He flinches at the power of it. His face scrunches in and his ears rung from the deafening noise. He thinks he hit the target, he heard the soft 'thump'. He doesn't drop the gun, or let it go flying from his hands, which is a plus. Jesse's arms coming to wrap around him is another.

“Forgot to mention the noise. Ya good?”

“I think I prefer a bow,” he says, rubbing the base of his ear. “Too bad I didn't bring it with me."  


“Well, maybe you can show me next time we meet up like this,” Jesse releases him and pulls down on his hat.

Hanzo smiles slyly, stepping in close, peeking under the brim of the hat, “Oh, next time?” He slips the gun back into the holster on Jesse's side. He's so close now. He wants him badly. He can only play with him for so long. He is still a teenager after all. Hormones are a beast. “You wish to meet with me again...?” He keeps his head low, bangs falling over his face.

“Y-yeah.... reckon I do,” is his reply, reaching up to tuck the strands of hair behind Hanzo's ear. “Yer better company than anyone else here.”

Their voices have become quiet without either noticing.

“You've only known me for three days, and you can already make that claim?” He peers up through his thick, dark lashes. His lips part just barely.

“I've only known ya for three days, and I'm saying that they've been more enjoyable than the year I've spent with Blackwatch.”

“Are you... fond of me, then?” Shyly, he looks away. He didn't think he'd be so caught up in all of it. He'd been the one toying with Jesse, and now he's the one blushing and bashful.

“I reckon I am.” He cranes his neck, hunching over at the shoulders. The tips of their noses just barely brush against each other. Jesse's hair pushes up on his head ad he invades Hanzo's space. Their chests touch, both hearth beating wild and fast.

Hanzo's hands wander blindly, finding Jesse's fumbling fingers. “Would you kiss me then?”

Without a second of hesitation he responds, “If ya want me to.”

“I do.”

So he does. It is shy and soft. Their noses bump together, neither knowing which way to angle their heads. For Hanzo, it is his first. He doesn't care much, a first kiss isn't something he dreams about or imagines a certain way. It is just something he knew was inevitable. He hasn't exactly had a relationship with anyone, so it had never been on his mind. But, God, is it something.

Jesse knows what he's doing once he gets over the initial awkwardness. His chapped lips maneuver just right. He doesn't go too fast, he doesn't push. He lets Hanzo move at his own pace. He lets him initiate any further advances. He waits for Hanzo's hands to wrap around his shoulders before his own loop around his waist. He pulls him in close. His grip is firm and steady; large hands covering most of the expanse of Hanzo's lower back.

The dragon succumbs to his touch. Knees growing weak, he lets his entire weight fall against Jesse's body. He hold strong, taking one step back to support himself. Hanzo is nearly on his toes. He thinks he might float up into the air is Jesse wasn't grounding him.

His lips part to Jesse's gentle urging. He tastes like smoke with tiniest hint of alcohol- bourbon. So that's where he was; off drinking somewhere, likely with Reyes. He likes it, opening his mouth wider to allow Jesse's tongue entrance. He breathes through his nose, it's hot on Hanzo's cheek. It's then that Hanzo realizes his head is going light, his lungs are tight; he's not breathing.

Pulling away he gasps for air, his chest heaving. Jesse bursts into laughter, patting him between the shoulder-blades. “Breathe,” he chuckles, “Ya gotta breathe, darlin'.” He presses soft kisses to the corners of Hanzo's mouth. “Don't want ya faintin' on me.”

Hanzo flushes, color returning to his face, “Perhaps I need more practice.” He nudges against Jesse's scruffy cheek.

“Oh yeah?” Jesse inquires. “I can probably arrange that...” One hand rises to pet through Hanzo's black locks. “Don't think I'd mind meetin' ya again like this.” He can't keep himself away now. He kisses him again. His fingers curl into the of his head, just at the nape of his neck.

It is growing dark, the final streaks of red and orange fade from view. Stars are already speckling the sky. The moon hasn't shown itself yet and the evening is in limbo. No sun, no moon, just them standing under the star-spangled horizon.

Hanzo clutches to Jesse's shoulders. He remembers to breath this time, not wanting to cut the moment short prematurely. He groans deeply in his throat as the cowboy's palms trail down his sides, pressing his thumbs into his hipbones. His tongue takes Hanzo's mouth again, going slow, teaching him. It became apparent pretty quickly to Jesse that Hanzo had never done this before. Hanzo is tentative at first with his own tongue, but he has a great teacher.

He finds the rhythm soon enough. He sucks in a deep breath in the moments that the break apart. Head tilted, lips relaxed, eyes closed; that's the way to do it. He could get used to this.

His jaw is aching by the time they're done. His lips are red and tender. He's flustered, hair tussled and yukata half falling off his shoulder. Jesse looks right as rain. His dappled cheeks plump up and he smiles wide.

“I gotta be the luckiest guy around, goddamn...” He looks upon Hanzo like he's the most beautiful damn thing he's ever seen. Hell, he is. _Prettier than a parade float on the Fourth of July._ He kisses the top of Hanzo's head. No words come from his mouth, he can't think of any.

“Why is that?” Hanzo asks, peering up.

“Cause yer... well, y'know,” he mumbles.

“No, what?”

  
He trips over his words. It's almost laughable. One moment he's a smooth talker and a total Casanova, the next he's a nervous lovestruck puppy. “Well, quite frankly, yer gorgeous.” He sniffs, pursing his lips and twitching. “And ain't no one ever been so kind to me.”

Hanzo tugs down on his hat, covering his face completely. “Get some rest, cowboy. You won't think I'm so kind when I defeat you tomorrow.” He'd almost forgotten about their upcoming little contest. With Jesse, time was nothing. Before he even knows it, it's pitch black outside.

He turns sharply and waltzes off, leaving Jesse to watch him as he goes.

“Where we gonna meet up tomorrow?” he asks, before Hanzo is out of sight.

“I'll find you, don't worry.”

“Well, g'night then darlin'.”

Hanzo pauses before vanishing around the corner, “Good night.”

–-

He just about flies home. He doesn't feel his feet touch the ground. He moves purple by muscle memory, his brain is too occupies with the rush of emotion. Happiness. Excitement. He wants to shouts, laugh, scream, something. Why this cowboy effects him so immensely, he doesn't know.

His father is home by the time he arrives, sitting down at the table with Genji. He's concentrated with the newspaper, but Genji perks up.

“Out so late, Hanzo?” he questions. He knows.

“Genji come with me. I have to speak with you.”

Their father folds over the edge of his paper. “Is something wrong Hanzo?” He glances down at his watch before returning to the paper, “It _is_ quite late.”

“No,” he replies, “I was out practicing for tomorrow.” He speaks rapidly.

“But you don't even have your b-” Genji is cut off by Hanzo quite literally dragging him from his seat.

“Come. With. Me.” he repeats.

“Okay, okay, fine. Geez...”

Chuckling to himself their father reads in silence. Boys will be boys- not to mention, teenage boys. At least they seem to be getting along.

Hanzo drags Genji all the way to his room, all while the former protests to be let go. What's so important anyway?

They reach his room and take a seat on the floor. Hanzo is nearly bouncing.

“What's up with you? You weren't so chipper this morning.” Genji lazily lays back, hands pillowed beneath his head.

“I have to tell you something. You can't tell anyone.”

“Hanzo, who am I going to tell? My friends don't care about your life.”

He can't say he's not hurt, just a little. He brushes it off. “This is serious Genji, promise me.”

“What, did you kill someone or something? Stop being so weird.” His hear is given an unceremonious tug. “Agh! Ok, fine! I promise.”

Hanzo clears his throat and then continues. He takes a moment to compose himself, he's almost to embarrassed to say anything. “Jesse and I... we kissed.”

Genji blows a raspberry through his lips, “That's it? Get better secrets, Hanzo.” He sits up. “Wasn't that your plan from the start? Why are you being to weird about it? I thought he was _yours_.” He's smug. If there is anything Genji can't be beaten at, it's being smug.

He's kissed plenty of people. He probably doesn't even remember his gawking, clumsy attempts at a pickup line when he first started milling around. But Hanzo does. He won't let him live it down. He thought he was so cool, running around town showing off his 'ninja skills' as he he called them. He distinctly recalls him also falling flat on his face after losing his foot on a wall. Everyone laughed but it only seemed to make him more endearing.

“He's my first...” he admits, “Kiss, that is.”

“Woah, really? Damn, brother. I didn't realize you were that much of a prude.” He sighs, laying back down. He waves his hand around in the air, as if elaborating on an epic tale. “Ok, go on, tell wise old Master Genji about it.” His ear receives another tug. Smart ass.

It is a bit strange speaking to his brother like this. Why did he decide to do this anyway? He's just so excited about it, he needs to tell somebody, and Genji is really the only option. “Well, he's a good kisser. I think.” He scratches at his jaw anxiously. What else is he supposed to say?

Genji follows along with little encouragements of “Mhm.” and “Go on.”

“He says I am good company. He also said that I am gorgeous.” This is weird. Why is he doing this to himself? He didn't realize how humiliating it would be. “He taught me how to shoot a gun.”

“C'mon Hanzo. Get to the juicy bits. You're so lame.”

“Juicy?”

“Yeah! Like, you know, did he slip you some tongue? Did he try to get in your pants? Did he pin you up against the wall and ravage you? Tell me something good,” he whines.

This boy is absolutely foul. Who taught him this stuff?

“Well, there was tongue, yes. But, as for ravaging, no.” He stops to ponder if he really wishes to admit such things to his brother, “I can't say I would have minded but, he was a total gentleman.” It's too late now.

“You're both lame. That's not exciting at all.” He grumbles, laying an arm across his eyes to block out the light.

His brother's conceited attitude is starting is starting to annoy him. “Well then, what do you suggest, if you're so good at this sort of thing.”

He grins, rolling over onto his stomach, chin propped up on his hands. His feet kick back and forth in the air. “I'm glad you asked. First off, he's only gonna be here for about a month, don't get attached. You have to play it fast and loose. You don't have time for all that romantic stuff.”

“Long-distance relationships can work.”

He rolls his eyes, “Oh please. He's basically in the military. He doesn't have time for that sort of thing. Trust me, after they all pack up, you'll be forgotten instantly. You have to make an impression. Something he'll never be able to forget.”

Hanzo cocks a brow, “What do you suggest?”

“You know what I'm getting at.”

“I assure you, I do not.”

“Don't be so dense. If anything makes a lasting impression, it's going to be one thing. You've already said it yourself. You have to make him yours.”

He can't believe his ears. His own baby brother is suggesting that he bed the cowboy. He'll have to have a chat with Genji's tutor; he doesn't know where he's learning about such filth. His face heats up. “That's too forward. I couldn't possibly-” It isn't like the thought hasn't crossed his mind for a fleeting moment. But they'd only known one another for three days, a fleeting thought was all it was.

Genji shrugs, hoisting himself up from the floor, “That's just my advice. Take it however you want. I'm going to bed.” He yawns and heads for the door, offering a short, “Night,” as he leaves.

–-

He can't get Genji's words out of his head. His heart still flutters. There's no way he can sleep when his mind and body feel so alive. Well, maybe if he fakes it long enough, sleep with just come. Turning off the lights and rolling out his futon, he lays down. He stared up at the dark ceiling, the outline of Jesse's freckled face appears before his eyes, even when he blinks it away. He shuts his eyes tight and pulls his blanket over his face. Eventually sleep does take him.

He dreams of cowboys.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Morning comes too soon. It seems like the birds start their endless chatter earlier and earlier each day. The light has barely hit the treetops by the time they begin. Besides the birds, a light trickling sound can be heard as well. The window is fogged up, droplets race down the glass. If there is ever a reason to not get out of bed, this is it.

Hanzo nearly falls back asleep until a rap of knuckles on his door rouses him. He mutters out an incomprehensible string of words, groggy and tired.

“Hanzo, are you ready? We have to go to the practice range.” He hears his father say through the door. At least he has the decency to not barge in, like he'd heard of so many parents doing. He likely wouldn't be to pleased with his son still lying in bed, rubbing the flaky dried drool off his chin.

So he rises, mainly spurred on by the promise of seeing Jesse again. Will things be different between them? He hadn't really thought about it. Are they a couple now? One kiss can't really determine that, right? People kissed all the time. Heaven knows his brother certainly did.

He paces around the room, putting on his clothes, tying back his hair, slipping on his socks. He's completely unfocused, knocking his hip against his dresser as he putters about. The cowboy's face is still the only thing in his vision. A small smile pulls on his lips. He can't wait to see him again.

–-

The Shimadas group up, all walking together, looking much like the little birds in the trees who are huddled together waiting out the rain. Genji looks even worse than Hanzo does. He probably didn't go to bed like he said he was. Likely, he was up all night playing games. Dark circles crease under his eyes and his hair sticks up in every direction. Their father is prim as always; hair slicked back into a tight bun, beard finely trimmed.

It isn't raining too hard. It is more of a mist, a light drizzle. No need for an umbrella. The sky is bleak, however, dark and grey. The scenery is overcast with heavy dull tones. More rain is definitely on the way.

The entire Blackwatch squad are already settled at the practice range. A few of their own men mill around, setting up the targets and priming Hanzo's bow.

Reyes is there, towards the back. He doesn't look happy. By the quiet over the group, the don't seem all too pleased either. Hanzo recognizes the woman from yesterday. Nat- that's what Jesse said her name is. She is surrounded by her little posse. They continually look to Reyes, met by a harsh glare each time. Each and every one of them look exhausted. He sees the familiar cowboy hat standing beside the commander. He's blocked mostly from view.

Reyes approaches them as they enter. He is definitely not in a good mood at all. “Let's just get this over with, alright?” Looking over to his men, his eyes narrow. “I have to teach them all a thing or two about discipline.” He raises a hand and gives a sharp, piercing whistle. “McCree, c'mon let's go. Pronto.”

The cowboy hat moves.

A servant brings Hanzo his bow and quiver. He bows his head in thanks, allowing the man to help him equip his gear. Shrugging his shirt off one shoulder, he lets the sleeve fall. He pulls the quiver onto his back, positioning it to a place where he can comfortably and easily reach the arrows. Testing the bow-string, he gives it a quick pluck. It reverberates, nice and taut.

“You wanna bet anything on this?” Reyes asks his father.

“I'll pay for your drinks all evening if your boy can beat mine. You seem like you could use one.”

“Heh, I'll say.” Reyes exhales through his nose, “And if you somehow, miraculously win, what do you want?”

His father thinks for a moment, there isn't much that he can't already acquire. “Give my servants the day off. Your boys will do their jobs,” he decides.

  
Reyes cracks a smile, “Fine by me. Who knows, I might just make them do it anyway.”

It's then that the cowboy hat draws close, but, beneath it isn't the face that Hanzo is familiar with. Tawny skin is bruised. One eye is bloodshot and swollen with a bright purple bruise encasing it. His chapped lips are split and red. His cheek looks a bit puffy as well. Welts stain the skin down his arms, shoddily applied bandages don't do much to hide them. His knuckles are raw, hints of blood soak through the bandages wrapped around them. There is no wide grin on his face, but the ghost of a smile does appear briefly when he sees Hanzo.

What the hell happened? He looks around, trying to fit the pieces together as quickly as he can. His eyes fall upon Nat's group. They have similarly worn knuckles. A few have scratches on their arms, but for the most part, they seem unharmed.

His grip on the bow tightens, realizing what they had done. He knows their crime. It takes everything in his power not to fire arrow after arrow into their skulls. It if weren't for Reyes and his father, he just might have.

“Sleep well?” Jesse asks, breaking Hanzo out of his rage-filled thoughts of brutally slaughtering each and every one of them. There's no resentment in his voice, he sounds just the same as usual.

“Y-yes... fine.” He has trouble coming to terms with the sight in front of him. “What happened to you?”

He doesn't smile too wide, not wanting to break open the weak skin on his sore lips. He rubs the back of his neck, hunching over slightly, “Aw, it's nothin'. Just had a little scuffle.”

From the looks of it, it was much more than that. Looking at him and then to the status of Nat's crew, it looked like less of a scuffle, and more of a beating. At the very least it seems like he got a few punches in, judging by the state of his tattered hands.

Why isn't he angry? Even if he's faking it, how can he maintain his composure? Hanzo would be furious. Hell, he _is_ furious. He's furious for Jesse. It seems like Reyes is too. His eyes soften when he looks at his young recruit. He tries to hide it. He can't.

Hanzo's father elbows him lightly in the side, whispering to him, “His vision is impaired. You should have no trouble beating him.” Clearly he's less than concerned about Jesse's well-being.

“I do not wish to do this while he is injured. It is unfair,” Hanzo huffs, already shoving his bow into the awaiting servant's hands.

“Hey now, “Jesse interjects, “didn't know ya thought so low of me.” He chuckles at first, but soon winces, clutching at his chest as his laughter turns into wheezing, which in turn, shifts into coughing. He raises up a hand to pause Hanzo's imminent panic. “Whooo!” he explains, breathing deeply to fill his lungs. “I'm alright, don't get to fussin' about me now.”

Reyes urges him with a firm, but gentle hand. “Okay McCree, get your ass in gear. We're not lollygagging here.”

“Gotcha.”

“Jesse, are you sure?” The whole thing feels wrong. It's dishonorable to kick a man while he's down.

“Don't worry about lil' ol' me. I'll be alright,” he assures. “I've dealt with worse.”

Without another word, he takes his place in front of the targets and waits.

Hanzo reluctantly takes his bow back. He can probably fudge his aim a bit without alerting his father to any foul play. A few centimeters here and there; he can blame the wind. With Jesse's swollen eye and bandages hands, its only fair. It's unlikely he can hit a bulls-eye. “If you're sure.”

The gunslinger nods, whipping out his revolvers from either side. He spins them gracefully around his fingers before they settle in his palms. Both? At the same time? It just seems unnecessary.

Hanzo steps into position as well, lined up before his own target. It sits quite a staggering distance away.

They start with just one shot, Hanzo goes first. Reaching behind himself, he pulls an arrow and nocks it on the bow. It's an easy motion for him; one he's gone far beyond memorizing. It's ingrained. He pulls back the the tight bow-string, breath bated. He points the tip at the center of the target and then pulls off, ever so slightly to the left. He's slow and deliberate with his movements. The more of a show he makes, the less he'll be suspected. It's an art form really. He's the painter and the target is his canvas.

He pushes the bow forward, straight along his mounted fingers, then brings his other elbow back, pulling the string as far as it will go. His eyes remain ahead. Once the tension begins to make his arm tremble, he releases. The arrow whizzes through the air and plants itself exactly where he'd meant it.

Despite his purposeful poor aim, everyone still seems impressed. Except his father, he knows better. Reyes's eyes widen, and for a moment he looks as if he may accept defeat already. There are whispers of those in the back, speaking about his Jesse is going to get his ass kicked and how Reyes should have chosen one of them to take his place instead.

Instead of listening to them and getting disheartened, Jesse raises his guns. Both point towards the target but he fires them one at a time. He doesn't wait for all eyes to be on him, or for someone to give him the go-ahead. He just fires when it feels right. The first shot, from his left, lines up withing the center ring. The second, from the right, is off by just a hair.

Maybe he was concerned for nothing. Or maybe Jesse is just incredibly lucky. Perhaps he won't have to go so easy on him. No hurt in testing it out.

Hanzo draws another arrow, placing it and aiming it just as he had done before(only in the correct place this time.) He widens his stance, feet sliding over the earth. He holds his breath and released as he shoots. Dead-on.

“Truthfully, I didn't think you'd actually be givin' me a run for my money here,” Jesse's turns to Hanzo. He's barely even paying attention as he fires off the next round. To an average person, it would be impressive, but to this group of trained killers, it's not good enough. The shots are just barely off. When he concentrates, he's a king; but, how much can he concentrate with Hanzo's pretty face staring him down.

–-

It goes on for what seems like hours. Empty shells litter the ground. Arrows and bullets have both depleted. The clouds have rolled over the sky, drooping with the weight of precipitation. Everyone grows tired, except the boys themselves. The competition has taken over them. They've begun deploying every trick shot they know, trying to one-up each other at every go. Reyes has to physically intervene before they're all stuck there for hours in the pouring rain.

“Okay, okay, that's enough. It's a draw. Maybe it isn't, I don't care anymore. Just get out of the damn rain. I don't need you catching pneumonia on me, McCree."

“Seeing as there is no clear victor, I suppose we both technically lose as well,” Hanzo's father says, stroking his beard to a point. “Does that mean we both have to pay up?”

“I will gladly make my boys do some grunt work.”

“Hah! Then I will gladly provide refreshments.”

If the two men ever became friends, they would be a truly terrifying duo  


While they discuss whatever matters two grown men discuss, Hanzo takes the chance to steal Jesse away before he can get roped into this “grunt work.”

–-

“So~” Jesse coos as they distance themselves from the group, seeking shelter beneath the roof of a mostly unused passageway.

“What is it?”

“Well, I won right? What's my prize?”

Hanzo snorts, “What do you mean? You did not win. It was a draw.”

“Oh come on, we both know that if we kept goin' I'd have beaten ya.”

He laboriously rolls his eyes, making full well that Jesse sees.

“Hey now, don't act like that, I'm not askin' fer much.” He plucks his hat from atop his head and shakes it out. Water droplets fly everywhere, having been caught in the brim. He plops it back on his scruffy head.

“You have no right to be asking for anything!” He's staggered by the request.

“Awww, c'mon... I just want a lil' kiss.”

Hanzo's face light up red. “O-oh.” He wants nothing more than to pounce on him right then and there, but the presence of his wounds halts him. He won't do anything if Jesse isn't in the condition to. “Before that, explain. What happened to you?”

Jesse rolls his shoulders back, groaning. He's avoiding it. “I told ya, got in a little scuffle.” He averts his gaze as he speaks and instead scratches his scalp and fiddles with his belt.

“That is a lie.”

“Fine, fine.” He breaks easily enough. “They beat the shit outta me, Nat and her gang. Got mad that I got'em into trouble with Reyes.” He pouts, as much as he can with his split lip. “Not really my finest moment. They all kinda ganged up on me.”

Hanzo steps in to examine him closer. The bottom of his chin is scraped, as well as the back of his arms. He was thrown to the ground. Was it before or after someone punches him in the face? Well, if he was grounded, he was probably kicked around, thus explaining his minor difficult breathing earlier. Bruised ribs, perhaps? He's not the best at doing this sort of detective work, but it's something he'd have to get better at. It's a useful ability, to be able to read wounds.

“Why did you let them? Why didn't you run?”

His mouth dances as he searches for the words. “Well, they was talkin' bad about you. I'm a coward, I would have run but... I can't let'em say such nasty stuff. It don't sit right with me."

“So you let them beat you.”

“Yep.”

“Because they said bad things about me?”

“Yessir.”

What a fool; a good-hearted, sickeningly sweet, too pure for his own good, fool. He hardly sees how getting beat up would help, but he does appreciate the sentiment.

The thought makes him sick. The images of what happened to Jesse intrude his mind.

–-

_Jesse returned late that night, after the troops had already been running drills all evening. Everyone, except himself, was in a bad mood. Reyes had already retired to his room, leaving all his men to do as they pleased. After a certain hour, he couldn't be bothered with babysitting._

 

_Jesse walked in, a cheery smile on his face, a happy tune humming in his throat. Nat's group pulled him aside quickly, cornering him. The others knew better than to get involves when they dragged him outside. They all saw, but they said nothing to stop it._

 

_It started with a punch to the gut, after Jesse argued with them for Hanzo's honor. They said vile things, lewd things. They disrespected him. So they punched him. He doubled over, then they knee him in the face. He swings back, landing a few good hits before two of the stronger men grab him by the arms and hold him back while the other take turns beating on him. They eventually throw him to the ground, scraping up the underside of his arms and chin. It's Nat who smashes him face-first into the pavement, splitting apart his lip and leaving a pool of blood in it's wake. His nose bleeds, his skin stings, and still they kick him with their heavy boots while he's laying there, defenseless._

 

_They get bored with his lack of screams. He's not afraid of them, and If he has to suffer through this torment for Hanzo, so be it. He didn't like it when people were bad-mouthed for no good reason. Hanzo had been nothing but kind to him, and in some way, he wanted to return the favor._

–-

Hanzo sighs. Looping his hands behind Jesse's waist, he draws in close. “Next time, just run away. Their words mean nothing. That's all they are, words. They are insignificant.” Gingerly, he sets his head against Jesse's armored chest, careful not to be too rough with him. “But... thank you.”

“Aw, shucks.” He strokes Hanzo's head, petting his damp hair. He curls a finger below his chin, lifting his upwards. He forces Hanzo's eyes to meet his own. “No need to thank me.” He kisses his forehead. “It's just what I do.”

The rain grows heavier outside. It falls loudly on the tiled roof.

The sound catches Jesse's attention, he glances up. “Guess we're kinda stuck here, huh? Unless ya wanna smell like a wet dog the rest of the day.”

“I don't mind being stuck with you.” Hanzo reaches up and removes the hat from Jesse's head, it's heavier than he expects. It's also in the way should he wish to run his hands through the cowboy's bed-head.

“Likewise.”

They come together once again. Jesse has no regard for his own self, but Hanzo tries to remain gentle. He can taste the copper on his broken lips. There's no taste of smokey tobacco; he must have not had a cigarette yet today.

He's better at it this time, kissing. The previous night he'd been so ill-prepared. He tries to remember the things he'd seen in movies or read in books. Where were his hands supposed to go? Why are his toes curling? Is he supposed to kick one leg up, like he'd seen in so many advertisements and posters? Is Jesse thinking about any of this? He doesn't seem like he has any troubles. His hands are always in the right place. And the way he oh so slightly pops his hips forward...

Before he knows it, his back is against the wall. One of Jesse's arms pins him there, while his other hand is free to roam. He traces down Hanzo's side before pulling him forward at the dip of his back. His long legs invade any last trace of personal space, with one wedged between Hanzo's knees and the other nearly touching the wall.

These motions and hand placements, they're more about instinct and what feels right, rather than what a movie says. Hanzo holds either side of Jesse's chin, his thumb rubs little circles into his stubbly cheeks. As Jesse's tongue enters his mouth, he feels a strange boiling deep in his gut. It takes him a moment to realize what he's feeling. Oh no. No, no no. This is not the time. Well, perhaps it is, but he's not ready for it yet.

He pulls Jesse's face away from his own, both heaving and gasping. It's quiet for a moment, but the look of Hanzo's expression is more then enough to explain. He's shocked. Confused, maybe. Just a little bit scared. His eyes are big, staring into Jesse's alluring, but equally confused face.

“What's wrong, sugar?” Heavily-lidded eyes blink slowly. Even with a black eye, he still manages the perfect smolder.

Hanzo is nearly sweating.

“What? Did I do somethin'? Do ya wanna stop?” He's concerned now, taking a step back and giving him some air. He doesn't want to push.

“N-no, it's fine. I'm just...” he trails off. He's not really sure where he going with this. He doesn't want to tell Jesse flat out that kissing him is getting him all hot and bothered. He'd laugh in his face! Excuses then. What's a good excuse? “You're going to hurt yourself. You should probably rest.”

“Aw, honey. I'm a lot stronger than that, a few bruises ain't gonna kill me. I told ya, ya don't need to worry about me.” He chuckles, relieved that it wasn't something he'd done. “But if ya wanna stop, I won't push ya.”

He takes Hanzo's lack of response as a yes.

They're still captive by the rain, however. Jesse decides to plop himself to the ground, wincing at the persistent ache in his abdomen. “Mind if I smoke?” he asks.

Hanzo slides down the wall, crossing his legs as he sits. Shaking his head, “No, go ahead.”

“Want one?”

He raises a brow, “You've seen how well that ends up.”

“Eh, takes time. Ya gotta get used to it.”

Hanzo smirks as he scoots himself closer to Jesse. “Do I want to get used to it?”

Jesse ponders for a moment, “Probably not.” He pops out a cigarette and places it between his lips.

“So, why do you smoke? The taste?”

“Hah.” He lights it. “Not at all. Honestly, it's pretty terrible.” He takes a long drag. “Kinda just started cause everyone around me was doin' it. Peer pressure n' all that."

“In Deadlock, right? Tell me more about them.”

He exhales through closed lips, “Pshhhh, that's a long story.”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Ya got me there, okay. I'll bite.” Adjusting his position, he reclines and gets comfortable. He's gearing up to tell quite the tale. “So, like I said before, I got locked up for a night when I was thirteen. Sheriff wanted to scare me, all that. I shared a cell with a couple of Deadlock boys. They did some minor stuff, trespassing or somethin'. That's all the sheriff could hold'em on. So they got to talkin' with me, askin' how I landed myself in the slammer. I told'em that I tried to rob a store, failed, and then tried to rob another one. They laughed at me, but were pretty interested in my, as they said 'spunk'. Now, the ol' sheriff, he'd fallen asleep on guard duty. Happened all the time. So the boys, they just talked to me, convinced me that their gang could use a guy like me. Someone with determination. They told me I'd make a ton of money. So I agreed to it.” He finishes off his cigarette and snubs it into the ground.

He pulls out another and continues with his story. “I think they just mostly wanted more men. More people to take the blame, y'know. Why else would they ask a little kid like me to join up with them? But, I took the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. I was desperate.” Inhale. Exhale. “Next day when the sheriff let me out, I ran home, packed a bag, and snuck out. Didn't tell Momma where I was goin'. I met up with the guys from the holdin' cell. I dunno if they broke out or got let out, I never asked. They were kinda low in the peckin' order, but they took me up to their boss and made a case for me. And by golly, they let me in. I started doin' mostly chores and stuff. Cleanin', cookin', takin' care of the horses and tuning up motorcycles.”

It's a strange picture in Hanzo's mind. Horses? And motorcycles? What kind of gang was this?

“But, eventually the taught me more stuff. I learned how to defend myself, mostly cause everyone was always roughin' each other up, and if ya didn't learn, you'd die,” he explains, like it's nothing, “Then they showed me how to shoot a gun. I was a natural. And Hell, I practiced. I practiced until my fingers bled from holdin' on so tight. I practiced until my ears were ringing and I couldn't hear nobody. And I slowly moved my way up, learned how to use dynamite and make some other explosives. Soon enough, I was runnin' in every job. Boss was real fond of me. By the time I was fifteen I was already top of the food chain. Made a name for myself.” He looks down, flicking some ash onto the ground, “Felt good, y'know? I felt like for once I was good for somethin'. Like I really had a purpose.”

“And what of your mother?” Hanzo curiously leans in. Despite the fact that they both have similar backgrounds- being part of criminal organizations, they couldn't be more different. While he grew up lavishly, never needing to lift a finger, Jesse had to work for everything. Hanzo was born into it, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Jesse pauses. “Well... my name did get around. I visited her all the time, but I was mostly living with the rest of the gang, in warehouses or shitty motels. She only asked me about it once, but I could tell by the look in her eyes... I knew what people were probably saying... 'Did ya hear about the McCree boy? Hear he's running' with the Rebels.' 'His poor Momma, bless her heart.' Shit like that. I didn't talk to her much towards the end, Hell, I haven't spoken to her since before I joined up with Blackwatch. She probably thinks I'm either dead or locked up alongside the rest of the boys.” His jaw slips, corners of his lips desperately trying to keep themselves from pulling down. “It's better she doesn't know, I think. God, if she knew all the shit I've done.” He smashes out the butt of his cigarette, but doesn't take another this time.

“You miss her?”

“Sure do. You'd like her. Sweetest soul on God's green Earth.”

Hanzo smiles softly, resting his head against Jesse's shoulder. “I can imagine. My mother was very kind as well.”

“What happened to yer momma? You ain't said nothin' bout her 'til now, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of a lady 'round here.”

“She passed away, about thirteen years ago. I was old enough to remember her, but Genji has no memory of her at all. All he has is stories. Our father loves to tell stories about her.”

Jesse's strong arm wraps around Hanzo's frame, pulling him in, resting his chin against his raven hair. “I'm sorry. Must be tough.” He kisses the top of his head, “Maybe one day I'll introduce ya to mine. Take ya back home. Show ya off."

The melancholic mopey atmosphere lightens a bit. Hanzo sits up, turning to look at Jesse, “Oh? Show me off?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I?”

“You are leaving in a month though.”

“That don't mean nothin'. Long distance can work.”

Hah. Genji was wrong. One point Hanzo, zero points Genji.

“You're not just going to forget about me?”

“Hell no! I dunno what it is but... I like you. An awful lot. I dunno if you'd call it dating or whatever. You can call if whatever ya want, but I just wanna keep this going.” He squeezes tight. “If you'll have me.”

Hanzo relaxes, again resting against Jesse. “Jesse, I'm the heir to a criminal empire. You're a military thug.”

“Covert ops,” he corrects.

“-Covert ops. Either way, we're a bit unsuited for one another, don't you think?” He shifts, turning himself, moving one leg at a time over Jesse's so that he may sit in front of him, almost on his lap. He faces him, coyly reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “If our sides weren't currently working together, I'm sure your Overwatch would happily hunt us down.”

“They're more worried about the Omnics at the moment. A few drug dealers and crime lords tend to slip through the cracks when there's threats of another crisis or invasion.”

“Would you hunt me down if you were given the orders to do so?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On if ya did somethin' worth hunting ya down for. I'm not in the business of killin' innocents anymore.” The last word particularly strikes Hanzo. He killed people in Deadlock. Innocent people. It's not that he has a problem with it, sometimes witnesses need to be taken care of; it's more the fact that it's him. Jesse just seems to cheerful and amiable. He can't see him staring down the barrel of his gun, a sympathetic “Sorry” on his lips as he blows the brains out of an innocent person.

He shrugs, “Even then, I might just pretend. Fake yer death. Depends on what sorta mood I'm in.” He understands that Hanzo is just messing with him, no reason he can't play back. “Who knows, get me mad, I might just kill ya with a smile.” He extends his index and middle finger, shaping his hand into a crude gun. He holds it up to Hanzo's forehead, “Bang,” he flicks it back, as if being recoiled.

Hanzo huffs, he can't deny how cute it is. He can't help but beam when the cowboy is near. His good vibes are contagious. “Don't think I won't put up a fight,” he answers, putting an arm around either side of Jesse's neck, “You may kill me, but I'll drag you down to Hell with me.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way, darlin'~” he croons.

They can't help but kiss again. It's a craving as strong as Jesse's dependency. Its soft, quick. The rain is dying down. By now their presence will be missed. Reyes will have noticed that his boy is nowhere to be found, skipping out of his duties again. Hanzo's father will wonder where he's gone; he's not at home or practicing.

“Jesse,” he reluctantly pushes his eager body away. “We should part. They'll wonder where we are.”

“Aw, let'em wonder,” he pecks the corner of Hanzo's mouth, leaving a trail of them all the way down to his collarbone. “I don't wanna leave ya...”

His lips are addictive. Hanzo can barely bring himself to insist. He nearly just gives in, letting Jesse's mouth wander across his piqued skin. The hair on his chin is scratchy, but not uncomfortable. His large hands grip, just a bit too tight. It all melds into one delightful feeling.

Another push. “No, we must. You need your rest if you want to recover.”

“Ain't gonna get no rest with Reyes ridin' my ass.”

The phrase shocks him at first. He thinks of it a bit too literally before realizing the slang. English is a wonderfully complex language full of many nasty euphemisms and phrases.

He chuckles after catching the meaning, “Tell him that you're under strict orders to take it easy. If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.”

“Oh yeah?” He's not convinced. “You expect him to listen to you?”

“If he doesn't want to be eaten by a dragon, I suggest he listen well.”

In that moment, Jesse's eyes are a wide as he can manage, and he knows he chose a good one; or at the very least he's happy that a good one chose him. He doesn't exactly understand what Hanzo means, but it sounds scary enough. He likes it. “I'll be sure to pass it on to him.”

He lifts himself from the floor with Hanzo's help, guiding him to his feet as to not aggravate his injuries further. Their hands linger. The rain has quieted to no more than a few droplets hitting the roof.

“Be sure you rest, okay? Your wounds will heal faster that way,” Hanzo tells him as they start to walk. Slowly, buying time.

“I don't think Reyes will bitch too much, honestly. 'Specially if he's got a few drinks in him. He's probably already takin' up yer daddy's offer while all the other guys run around and do chores.” He intertwines their fingers, even if only for a moment. “You should head right home too, don't think ya wanna run into Nat's gang. They might not take too kindly to ya.”

They reach the doorway, painfully pulling away from one another. They say their parting farewells and “until tomorrow”s. Jesse saunters odd, hands in his pockets and spurs jingling. He's out of sight before Hanzo remembers that he's forgotten his hat. Oh well. He'll bring it to him tomorrow.

The hat had since been discarded on the ground. It's still damp from the rain. Hanzo picks it up, brushes it off, and tucks it under his arm. It smells like him, sweat, smoke, and the faintest hint of spearmint scented shampoo. For the night, it's his own little favor. A little token of his cowboy. What he'll do with it, he doesn't know. Most likely he'll just stare at it until he falls asleep, imagining how long it'll take for Jesse to realize that it's missing.

–-

There's no questions from Genji when he returns home. He still looks tired. He takes a glance at the hat and gives a thumbs up.

  
Hanzo hides away, retreating to his room. He lets Genji assume whatever he wants to assume. From now on, he's keeping what goes on between him and Jesse quiet. He doesn't need anymore of his brother's lewd remarks or questionable tactics. He can do this on his own.

–-

Jesse does get his hat back the next day- with a bit of persuasion on his part.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, they love each other.  
> Gross.
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: Went back and fixed the formatting on all the chapters, hopefully they're a bit easier to read now!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more serious, but I promise it's gonna get saucy soon ;)

Gunshots. Shouting. The clamor of birds screeching and squawking and the rustle of the leaves as they flee the treetops.

Hanzo bolts up from his bed. His brain fights against itself, one half sleepy and disoriented, and the other highly alert and hectic. He's plagued by a series of questions: What time is it? What's going on? Is he safe? Where is his family?

Kicking off his blankets, he takes the time to breathe and calm himself down as he bustles around his room and clothes himself.

What time is it? Judging by the dark sky still outside his window, it's early in the morning. There's still a slight chill in the air. It's too early for even the birds to sing. He flips on his desk lamp so he can see the face of his clock. About five o'clock in the morning. Seems about right.

What's going on? Gunshots; not ones he recognizes. They aren't the usual silenced handguns his father's guards use. This is different entirely. There are all sorts of gunshots firing. Some sound more like plasma weapons, some fire fast like a semi-automatic, and some are slow and loud. It's definitely different artillery from what was common, and so much of it. There's a fight, that's the only explanation for them being so close and so sporadic. It's nothing like the sounds from shooting practice. Did a rival clan attack? Do the guns belong to them. Maybe they belong to Blackwatch. He does recall seeing some interesting weapons wielded by them.

Is he safe? He dresses himself in a flash, throwing on his battle-gear; kyudo-gi, hakama, a chest guard, climbing talons for his shoes. No one has come to rouse him. Either everyone is too busy, or the danger isn't too imminent. At the very least, the fighting doesn't sound like it's incredibly close to the main house. Beyond his home is a long expanse of gardens and fences before reaching the area near the front gate.

Where is his family? He is already leaving his room to find out. He passes by Genji's room. The door is closed. Without knocking, he slides it open. His brother is sitting upright in his futon, staring out the window, turning to Hanzo as he appears.

“What's going on?” he asks, pushing off his covers and scrambling to his feet. He speaks in a hushed voice, crouching down and keeping his head low. “Is it a drill?”

“I don't know yet,” Hanzo answers, “But, I don't think it's a drill.”

“Where's Father?”

“I'm going to find that out. For now, stay here and keep yourself hidden, okay?”

“Hanzo, I should go with you.” Genji tugs on his sleeve.

He shakes his head, gently pushing him towards the closet, “No. Stay here. Hide. If something happens to Father and myself, you need to stay alive.” He slides open the closet door and ushers Genji inside, “Just stay in here okay? Keep quiet.”

Genji nods reluctantly, pulling the closet door closed and wishing Hanzo good luck.

His father's room is empty when he checks. The door is open, however. He must be out in the fray. The room isn't in shambles, which is a relief. The fight didn't enter their home. The man's keen senses must have alerted him to the threat long before it even arrived. He is an old dragon and very experienced. Nothing could slip by him that easily.

One final thought rushes through his head as he flies out the front door.

 

Where is Jesse?

–-

The scene beyond the house is chaotic. It's definitely a rival clan. A red insignia marks the back of their black robes. With the chaos, it's hard to make out exactly what it looks like. It's certainly not one Hanzo is familiar with. A newer clan? He's also unfamiliar with the animal masks they wear to hide their faces. He'd never seen that before.

The Shimada guards along with Blackwatch men are running about. A medic tends to the wounded, hidden away behind the ceremonial bell. Troops fight at the front gate, holding the choke-point against the masked intruders. He sees a few bodies laying across the ground; some dead, some badly injured. The poor medic already has his hands full. Hanzo holds his breath as he attempts to identify them. He exhales. None of them are Jesse. They are faces he doesn't really recognize, but a few wear the usual black suit the guards wear. An injured Blackwatch struggles dragging his worse-for-wear comrade to safety.

Reyes mans the front lines. He shouts orders, all while fighting off the onslaught. Both factions put aside their difference and come together under this man, obeying his every word without hesitation.

He wields dual shotguns. They look almost comically large in his hands. He must have amazing arm strength to lift them so easily. Hanzo doesn't see Jesse anywhere near him. Strange. He'd expect to see him right at Reyes's side.

A man comes at the commander with a blade. It could spell misfortune for Reyes if he misses any of his shots. Does he even know how to fight against such a weapon? Fighting someone with a gun and fighting someone with a katana are very different demons. They require different tactics. It's highly unlikely that he was trained against swords, especially in America.

But, Reyes easily dodges the oncoming thrust. It's fast. Hanzo doesn't even catch the movement. The swordsman, he's not bad, but Reyes moves like a ghost. Despite his huge frame, he's light on his feet. The blade cuts nothing but air, and the swordsman find himself caught off-balance. He stumbles forward a few steps. A fatal mistake it would seem. Reyes twists his body around in one fluid motion. His guns fire off before his feet are even firmly planted on the ground. The man falls before he comes to a halt and finds his next target. It's like a dance.

The others aren't having an easy time. Even with Reyes's strategy and quick thinking, they still struggle against the pure numbers. But if anything, Blackwatch is persistent.

These intruders aren't incapable. If Blackwatch hadn't been there, he can't imagine the damage they would have caused. The Shimada's guards could never have taken on such a force on their own. They do have a special force on their side though, a force that had earned them their notoriety and infamy.

But, the elder dragon was nowhere in sight.

It's no time to sit around. Without his father around, it's Hanzo's duty. He has to protect his people.

He sprints as fast as his legs will take him to the dojo. He retrieves his sword from the wall; a real one, not the wooden ones he's accustomed to practicing with. This one is sharpened precisely. The edge is paper-thin. He ties the scabbard to his hip and bounds back to the action. His hand already hovers over the hilt, ready to draw.

Lucky for him, he doesn't miss any of the fighting. He does nearly miss a blade coming straight at his face as he round the corner, however. His own sword is drawn lightning fast, blocking the blow and redirecting it. It wedges itself into a wooden post at the doorway. The enemy yanks and tugs at it uselessly. He leaves himself wide open.

Is it happening? Is it time? It's finally the moment, but is he ready? Can he do it?

Can he take a life?

His body doesn't stop to think like his brain does. It reacts. It's been through the same drill a thousand times. It knows exactly what to do in this situation. It's all muscle memory. His brain tells him to wait, but his body follows-through.

He strikes the man down where he stands, a gash spreading across his chest. Blood spurts out from the wound, misting Hanzo in the spray. He falls first to his knees, his mask slides from his face. He's a middle-aged man, presumably around forty. He gasps and gurgles as blood fills up his lungs. He continues trying to breath, but it's useless. With every breath he drowns.

Helplessly he reaches out and grabs a weak fistful of Hanzo's shirt, his hand soon falling just as limp as his body as he topples to the ground.

He thought he'd feel something. He doesn't. No sense of power or accomplishment. It just feels like a chore, a task. Something that needs to be done. There is no thrill or rush. But, neither is there regret or remorse. A blank slate.

–-

There is still no sign of Jesse or his father as he cuts across the battlefield. It's almost too easy to bring down anyone that challenges him. Is it supposed to be this easy? They charge at him, he dodges, and cuts them down. It's the same thing every time. Every now and again there's a small exchange, a few parries, a few volleys for control, but each and every time he ends them.

There's a lot of them, that's for certain. Judging by their sheer numbers, it _has_ to be a newer clan. Be in the business lone enough and one quickly learns about quality over quantity. With a newer clan, a younger ruler, there are more people willing to simply throw their lives away for a cause. They get excited over the promise of power, but they will never be important. They are not even martyrs. They are fodder. Meaningless nothings. They die with no purpose other than to impress their master.

Their formation breaks soon enough. Typical, their master is not there to oversee them. Coward. They can't keep themselves together without someone leading them. A swarm cannot take on a skilled militia, no matter how great their numbers. They may make a dent, Hell, they might even make a few kills, but they cannot win.

With Reyes at the helm, they are driven back into the streets. Finally, they give in. Some pile into vans or trucks while others take to running. A few survivors are kept captive for questioning and perhaps torture if they hold their tongues. The usual.

“Commander Reyes!” Hanzo calls out. He wipes his sword across his sleeve and sheathes it. Ambling towards the man, he looks barely fazed. Understandable, he's been through this sort of ordeal before presumably.

He faces Hanzo, dropping his empty shotguns to the ground in a smoking heap. “Can I help you?” He eyes him up and down. The blood smeared over him is a new look, but not a bad one. It looks almost natural and fitting on the young master.

“My father,” Hanzo pants, chest heaving as he sucks air into his lungs, “Where is he?” He wants desperately to ask about Jesse as well, but, really, it is none of his business... as much as he'd like it to be. Reyes's calm demeanor is somewhat reassuring. Surely he wouldn't be so calm if the cowboy was laying face down in a ditch somewhere.

He rolls his neck, the joints pop and crack. He must have been woken up early to deal with this mess. He grumbles, “McCree's with him. Back in, uh-” he loses track of his words, spacing out as the rising sun hits his squinting eyes from over the horizon. To Hanzo, it looks as if he might be a bit hungover. “-he's uh, in the back. Behind the shrine. In the meeting room.”

“Jesse is with him?” Hanzo inquires, not meaning to push Reyes's headache further, but managing to anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, I ordered McCree to protect him. I don't want to lose a client before the job is done, that's why I didn't want him involved.” Reyes groans and rubs his temples, blinking his eyes a few times and adjusting to the sunlight. “Your old man sure can put up a fight though. He wanted to take my head off for not letting him fight.” He waves Hanzo off, dismissing him before the kid gives him an even bigger headache. “Get going, we'll clean this up.”

He races through the grounds. The bodies strewn about are disconcerting. They go pretty deep into the grounds, past the gazebo. These guys weren't just blindly fighting. A few of them snuck around to the back lines. They were looking for someone, namely his father. His eyes scan for any stragglers that he may need to pick off. Everything looks clean though. Each body lays utterly and completely dead, a bullet hole neatly placed between their eyes.

At least no bodies make it all the way back to the shrine. There's no sign of a struggle either. It looks rather untouched.

Darting up the stairways, he hurries through the corridor and without thinking, he slides open the screen door to the back room. He doesn't announce himself, which almost earns him a shiny bullet right through his skull. It whistles through the air right beside his head and buries itself deep in the door frame. Had he come rushing in any faster it'd have a nice cushy home inside his brain.

“Jesse!” He ducks out of the way, hiding behind the frame should any more bullets whiz towards him. “It's me. The fighting is over.”

“Hanzo?” He can hear the gun being holstered. “Well why didn't ya say!”

He rounds the corner. His father is sitting down on a cushion near the wall. His arms are crossed and he looks wholly dismayed about the entire situation. He wasn't allowed to partake in the fighting on Reyes's orders. Normally, he wouldn't take orders from anybody, but the commander must have put up a compelling argument. He barely bats an eye when Hanzo enters.

Jesse, however, is astonished. “Hanzo, are ya all right? Yer covered in blood. Are ya hurt?” He fusses over him, eyes examining every inch of skin he can see.

“It is not my blood,” he assures. “What about you? Is everything all right here?”

Jesse's wounds have been healing nicely over the past week. His black eye has been reduced to a purplish-green blemish along the bottom of his eye socket and the cut on his lip has faded. All his scrapes have scabbed over and he doesn't whinge when he makes too sudden of a movement. He doesn't look to have any new injuries to speak of. All in all, he looks okay.

“Um, yeah. Reyes told me to go round up yer old man and bring him here to watch him.” Jesse looked over his shoulder to the pouty man, who has now gotten to his feet. “He just about knocked my teeth in when I woke him up.”

Jesse entered his home? Did he see anything? Heaven forbid Hanzo left out any of his dirty laundry or anything else questionable. No, that's not what's important right now. “Do you know what happened?”

He shrugs, “Not really. One of yer guys was doin' the rounds outside the gates and noticed somethin' fishy I guess. Called up Reyes real quick. By the time we got over there, the fightin' had already started.” His voice cracks and his mouth twitches, “I wanted to grab you and Genji too, but Reyes insisted that you'd be fine; that they'd only be lookin' for yer daddy.”

Well, he isn't wrong. He and Genji are only targets after their father is out of the way. He's stronger than either of them, and no enemy would want an angry dragon on their doorsteps.

By now, his father is approaching him. He pushes past Jesse and looks him up and down, taking a bit of fabric from Hanzo's sleeve and rolls it between his fingers. He examines the damp red stains. “Your first kill,” he mutters. His eyes glance up to catch his son's face, “You are not injured at all?”

“I'm fine.”

“And Genji?”

“He's safe.”

Jesse remains close to their sides. The awkward father/son moment is getting to him, but he's still bound by his orders. “If y'all don't mind, I think we should get back to Reyes. Assess the damage and all that.” He fidgets uncomfortably, looking much like he has something to say but no way to say it. He cracks his fingers at his sides and shifts weight between his feet.

“You are right. Let us go,” the man says. He straightens out his robe, happy to be freed from his confinement. He proceeds out the door without even a look back.

Jesse follows for a moment, and then stops, “Oh uh, go on ahead. I'll be right there.” He stands slack-jawed, looking around the room. From the look on his face, all the gears in his head are turning, looking for some sort of excuse. “I'm uh... gonna check the perimeter. Make sure no one is sneaking around behind us. Hanzo, help me out?”

Hanzo's father doesn't care. He didn't want a scruffy teenage bodyguard to begin with. He can handle himself, Reyes was just being cautious. Hanzo is aware of the knife he always keeps on his person. He's never unarmed, and he's always dangerous. He's out of the room before Jesse can even finish speaking.

Hanzo tilts his head. The enemy has retreated. No more stragglers would dare to stay when everyone is on such high-alert. It's a death wish. Jesse should know this. “There is no one out there I've already-”

Checking the perimeter wasn't his intention at all. Hanzo realizes this as he's grabbed by the wrist and spun around into Jesse's awaiting arms. He'd really have to stop taking things so literally.

He can't get a word in before Jesse kisses him. It's rough. Sloppy. His hands shake as he hold on tight, his heart pounds heavily even through his chest plate.

Hanzo has to push him away before he's suffocated by the unceasing display of affection. “Jes-Jesse, slow down!” He breathes deeply to calm himself. “Relax. What is wrong?” As much as he enjoys kissing his cowboy, this feels different. It's not the same as the tender, amorous kisses he usually gives.

He crumples, trembling. “I was so scared. I didn't want to leave without ya, but I had no choice. I was so worried, and then ya come in here, covered in blood. I.... my heart stopped, thinkin' that I let ya get hurt.” He takes a handful of Hanzo's shirt, crushing is in his palms as he shrinks down, his knees weakening. He rests his forehead against Hanzo's shoulder. “I was so scared...” he mumbles again.

They've been meeting every night since Blackwatch arrived. It's all entirely too fast and most likely a bad idea. But, the connection between them is real and intense. It's what one would call 'chemistry', if it had to be put into terms. It started as nothing. Hanzo didn't intend on getting so attached. He thought of it as a game at first. He thought once he had Jesse, he'd just bore of him. The thrill is in the chase. But something about this boy made him come back for more, time and time again. He always has a new story to tell or a surprising new colloquialism. He also displays a certain hospitality that is readily welcomed. Jesse isn't afraid of him. He isn't reserved. He was shy at first, but after coming out of his shell, Hanzo can say one thing with certainty.

He loves him.

Clicking his tongue, he sets the cowboy upright. “Do not fret. I'm fine.” He sighs, brushing a strand of hair out of Jesse's warm, honey eyes. “I would not let someone unworthy take my life.”

This seems to relax him and comfort him. He doesn't look to be on the verge of tears anymore, which is something. “I'm sorry. I just... I can't lose you. I've lost too many people.” He steps back and straightens himself up, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. “I gotta go report to Reyes. You comin'?” His hand is extended, already knowing the answer, just waiting for Hanzo's fingers to lace snugly with his own.

–-

The beams of sunlight have risen to peek over the distant mountaintops. They illuminate the ground, reflecting against the bloodshed. What had been concealed in the darkness now comes fully to light. Cherry blossom petals wilt and shrivel, soaked too deeply to maintain their shape. The fight was not long, and they did emerge the victors; but human lives are so fragile. It is not like the movies, where the hero gets torn to bits but still manages to fight on. One stab to the stomach, a slash across the neck, a bullet through the head. In one tiny second, a life can disappear. Anything can happen. A mistake or a slip of the hand could be a death-sentence.

It is unfair; life is unfair. Even with exponentially more skill, a seasoned warrior could still slip up, falter, or hesitate. At any time, one of them could have been slain and be among the corpses on the ground. It is sickening, and the realization hits Hanzo like a truck.

He could have died. He didn't, but the possibility was there. Any of the lives he took could have easily been traded for his own.

He stops in his tracks.

Jesse faces him, being halted by the suddenly immovable mass. “Hanzo?”

No response.

“Hey,” he frowns. He doesn't care if anyone sees him take both of Hanzo's hands into his own. “Hey hey hey, what's wrong?” He's confused and uneasy about his sudden change in behavior. His brows scrunch in the middle as his eyes study Hanzo's face. “Yer lookin' pale darlin'. What is it?”

“I killed that man,” he points to a corpse laying in the rocks. A red gash splits his chest and blood pools around him. “I took his life away with one stroke.”

Jesse shifts on his feet. “Yeah, that's what happens. Nothing you can do about it though...” He's been through enough battles to know that much. One can't live with regret. When in combat, one can't see the enemy as another person. They are a target and nothing more.

“He probably has a family awaiting his return. That one over there-” he points to another body, “-he's somebody's son.”

Jesse shushes him, planting a finger against his lips. “Now now, let's not have none of that. That's dangerous thinkin'. They wanted to kill you. If ya hadn't done it, it'd be you layin' there in a bloody heap.” His solitary finger silences Hanzo as he continues to speak. “Everybody is somebody to someone. You just gotta keep on livin' for yer own somebodies.”

By now, a few wandering eyes have caught them. This doesn't stop Jesse, even when Hanzo tries to retreat. “Listen to me, yer own life is what's most important.” He holds his hands tighter, “The person at the end of yer blade, or gun, or whatever, they ain't a person no more. If you think of 'em like that, yer gonna live yer life with guilt. I don't care who it is. It could be me. If it's between yer life and mine, you better fuckin' fight to be the one left alive.” His eyes are fixed on Hanzo's. He doesn't look away for even a moment. He's serious. It's quite a change for him.

“Those are... wise words.” Hanzo's head hangs low, his hair fall over his features. Jesse releases him as he gives in to it.

Were these words Jesse had to tell himself? It doesn't seem like something he could make up on the spot. It's something ingrained in his very being. It doesn't sound like a lesson from Reyes either. It's too emotional, too sentimental. He softens, “It gets easier with time. Trust me.”

The commander calls for them, unaware of their little display.

“Jesse, you're helping with cleanup duty. Get to it.” Reyes snaps his fingers and the cowboy obliges. He smiles weakly before turning and joining the others to haul bodies away.

A servant girl brings Hanzo a rag to clean himself off with. He's surprised by the amount of blood he manages to wipe from his face. The white cloth turns pink after use. He thanks her, handing the dirtied rag back as she runs off to assist the medic.

He catches his father and Reyes speaking. He listens in, hiding himself partially behind a wall. The two watch Jesse as he easily hoists a body up over his shoulder. The commander occasionally diverts to assign tasks. “How was he? Did he meet your standards?”

“Your boy has an interesting manner of speaking.”

Reyes chuckles, “We're working on that. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy.” He speaks fondly of Jesse, as fondly as a commander can about one of his underlings without playing favorites. But why? That is the question Hanzo can't figure out.

His father strokes his beard. “He could use a bit more practice. He's a skilled sharpshooter, but he is still a child. He lacks restraint. He lacks authority. Hanzo is only a year older, but he has undergone intense studies and training. I think the same would benefit your boy. He needs structure. Dumb luck and a plucky attitude won't get him far.”

Reyes rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck once again, his hands fist inside his pockets. “McCree learned from the streets, the hard way. It'll take some time to completely break him. He's stubborn. When I first took him in, he was even worse. He didn't take orders, he mouthed back. He'd pick fights constantly. Hell, he even tried to run away at one point. I think for just over a year, I've trained him pretty well.”

So that's what it is. He's a project. It doesn't sit quite right.

Reyes continues, “But, did you die? No. Were you injured? No. Did he do what I ordered him to do? Yeah, I'd say he did. He might not be conventional, but he'll do what he's told to do.”

“What are your plans for him then? With a bit of special training he'd make a fine assassin. Though, those spurs of his will have to go.”

Reyes shakes his head, “Nah. He's too good-hearted for that. Then again, I don't think bodyguard duty really suits him too well either. He can do it, but he just has this thing where people don't really like him. And he's too smart to be a soldier.”

“Your job then,” his father jokes.

They both laugh.

Hanzo feels out of place listening to them speak. The subject feels wrong. They way they talk about Jesse, he doesn't like it. He should choose his own path, not have it planned out for him. Hanzo knows this too well. His own future is decided, cut, and dried. He will inherit the Shimada estate and everything that come with it. He has no choice. It is his duty. But, Jesse has a chance. He has a chance to make something of himself, and here they are, trying to decide it for him.

He'd give anything to have that freedom.

He doesn't want to listen to it any longer, lest his temper get the best of him. “Excuse me Father,” he peeks out from behind his hiding spot. He waits politely for acknowledgment before continuing. “If you don't need me for anything here, I'm going to go check on Genji.”

“Ah, yes. Go check on him and clean yourself up. Get some rest as well. I'll speak with you later. We have much we need to discuss.”

It's about the kill. His first kill. He knows.

He bows and excuses himself. He can hear them talk as he walks away.

“He sure is a quiet one, isn't he?”

–-

“Hanzo! Woah!” Genji practically bounces around him. “You really killed someone? What was it like?”

Admittedly, he did not expect this sort of reaction.

“It is nothing to be impressed with.”

“Oh come on, don't be so gloomy.”

He sighs. His head hurts. “I took away someone's life. It is out of necessity. I really do not wish to speak about it.” He's had enough of it. He simply wants the thought from his mind.

“But it means that your real training is going to start. Father is going to be way harder on you now.” Genji sits atop his futon, legs crossed in front of him. He looks stupidly smug. It's like he's bragging about his life being easier.

“I _know_ that Genji. You think I want this?” he snaps. It's like each thing he does is a milestone or a marker. By killing someone, did he suddenly unlock a new section within his father's heart? Does he love him as a son, or just an heir. At some point he wanted this. The thought of ruling over the clan once excited him, but not anymore.

Since meeting Jesse, his eyes have opened. Is he a bad influence? Perhaps. He wants more from life. He's spent nineteen years looking at the same walls, the same faces, the same damn trees. What else is out there? He's never left his hometown, let alone the country. He's tired of being caged away like a bird; preened and plucked to suit the family's needs. Why do they never ask him what he wants? Why is everything just expected of him? Because he is the first-born? He never asked to be born first. He never asked for any of this. Fortune and power would sure come to him, but will that make him happy? He doesn't think so.

Genji rolls his eyes. “Geez, sooorry. I didn't know being Father's favorite was such an awful thing. Better than being the family disappointment.”

He can take no more without losing his temper. It wouldn't be fair to lash out at Genji for his own personal problems. He needs to sleep. He needs to clear his mind before he does something rash. He sighs. “Go to Father. Tell him you're all right. I'm going back to bed.” He leaves promptly.

The sun pours into his room. Even after drawing closed the curtains, he can't sleep. He sits on his futon, wide-awake. He wants to just close the curtains on his brain. He wants no more of it.

\--

He doesn't see Jesse the rest of the day, only catching him quickly in passing. The remainder of the day is filled with his father's ceaseless prattling. He's barely paying attention. He nods and gives short replies. It is much of the same. He's heard it all before. It's the same lecture every time, to the point where he can nearly recite it word-for-word himself.

Then the subject changes. His father's expression grows soft, looking more like an actual father than a mentor. “Hanzo. I can no longer delude myself. You are growing. You are a man.” He grimaces painfully, taking much time between his words. It's like he doesn't want to say what needs to be said. “I feel I have coddled you too long.” He works his jaw, finding the right way to say it. “I don't want to put this heavy pressure upon you. When I was your age, the same was put upon me but,” he pauses and places a hand on his son's shoulder, “I know you are more than capable. I would not be so hard on you if I did not think you were ready.” A gentle squeeze. A sigh. “But now, you are no longer a child. You've tasted first blood. You must take up your place alongside me, and when I die, you will take my place. I'm not going to live forever. If I could, and spare you this burden, I would.”

He clears his throat, his wavering voice becoming stern like usual, “From now on, you will attend any and all meetings, you will assist me in my daily tasks, and you will step up your training. I will also arrange a tutor for advanced studies.”

Hanzo stays silent. He always knew that this was coming. But now it's in his face, and it's real. He's crossed the barrier from boy to man. A boy cannot hold the weight of another human's life in his hands.

“It will not be easy, but, if I teach you well, I believe you can achieve even greater things than I.” He brings his hands to his lap, glossy eyes staring into nothing. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“And what of Genji?” Hanzo lifts his chin. “What is his role in all of this?”

“Your brother, ah... That is...” He exhales through his nose, blinking slowly. “I want him to help you. He has a certain compassion that is rare these days. I believe if the two of you worked together, it would better the entire clan. He shifts, “He just... needs to find his way.”

“Is that why you promised him to Reyes?”

“He needs training and discipline I cannot provide. He won't listen to me anymore. Sending him away might be his only hope. And then, once he's ready, he can join you.”

Genji has been a sensitive subject with his father since the boy came of age. Everyone thought he would calm down and forget his silly pastimes. But, in the ever changing world, Genji wants to adapt. Traditions and formalities are too old-fashioned for him.

“He is too much like your mother, and I fear that may be his downfall.” He stands, beckoning Hanzo to join him. “Come, let us see how the cleanup is getting along. We start preparations for the festival soon, and I do not with to decorate our home with corpses.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pssst, rating may change next chapter, just fyi)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spicy. 
> 
> (it's mostly non-explicit)

Festival proceedings take up much of Hanzo's time in the coming days. He barely has time to think, running back and forth between meetings and supervising the work being done on the estate. He goes to sleep tired and wakes up tired. How has his father done this for so many years? On top of all that, he trains in the dojo for an hour two each day, as well as sitting down for lessons and tutoring. Sometimes, if he's not extremely busy, or even if he is, Jesse will pop by to say hello.

For awhile, it is the only communication between them. Their time together gets shorter with each passing day. While not fully aware of it, the thought weighs heavily on Hanzo's mind. He overworks himself to the point of exhaustion, just because he believes it will free up some time to spend with the cowboy. But, each time he finishes a task, a new one is simply given to him. He's stressed beyond belief. How early can one start growing grey hairs? Because he's sure he saw one.

Tasked for the day with contacting the local merchants and vendors, Hanzo sets off into town. The sunlight is harsh on his eyes and it's far too hot. His lack of sleep isn't helping him feel any better either. He tries to be vigilant, despite this.

Reyes had informed them about his theories on the attack. Seems like he'd done some digging around. It was a clan that Hanzo is not very familiar with, the Oda clan. From what Reyes said, they are indeed a newer clan, or at least under new leadership. The old head had passed away and his son took over. The son was a popular young man, great at rallying his troops, but when it came to strategy or planning, he severely lacked; thus the unsuccessful ambush.

They were indeed looking for his father. He'd managed to extract information from one of the attackers he detained. He squealed easily, saying that the Oda clan was simply working under another, much larger family. They were the guinea pigs, the ones to test the waters. They'd heard that the Shimada family was seeking outside protection and wanted to see just how tough they were. It is almost certain that an attack will take place during the festival, but from who? And when? Reyes had already started drawing up plans and thoroughly mapping out every inch of the estate.

While his brain is racked with these thoughts, he fails to notice the footsteps behind him until they are close. Too close. He is blinded, his eyes covered from behind ad he is pulled back against a- he assumes- body. He panics momentarily, his heart racing, ready to defend himself. But, the smell of leather and tobacco, along with a low drawl ease him.

“Guess who?” the drawl asks.

He huffs, easily pulling away from the hands over his eyes. “Jesse,” he chuckles, “I could have killed you.”

“Yeah, but ya didn't,” he says, his too-wide smile spreading across his face. “What're ya doin' out here? Stuff for the festival?”

Hanzo nods, taking Jesse's hand when it is offered to him. The feeling is comforting. “Yes, I'm going to talk with a few vendors and make sure they are all in order. What about you?”

“Reyes sent me out on some errands. Cigarettes, booze, that sorta stuff.”

“You know, we could easily acquire that for you.” He tilts his head, “You are our guests, after all.”

Jesse laughs, lifting up his hat to scratch the back of his head before replacing it. “Honestly, I think he just wanted me outta his hair. There hasn't been too much for us to do these past couple days. Just sorta runnin' around doin' busy work.”

“Well then, would you like to come with me? I'd appreciate the company.”

He grins, “That was my plan. I've been missin' ya somethin' fierce.”

Hanzo's brow raises, he can't help the pull of his lips, “Is that so? What did you even do before we met?”

He shrugs, “Mope, mostly.”

“You are unbelievable.” With that, Hanzo produces a scrap of paper from his chest pocket. He looks it over, glancing up to check the surrounding and what might be the best course of action to get things done in a timely manner. “Have you eaten? I need to meet up with one of out food vendors, would you like to get lunch after I'm doing with the other merchants?”

“No, not yet,” Jesse replies. He pauses as a thought crosses his mind, “Hey, this is sorta like a date, huh?”

Hanzo falters. “A date?” His cheeks warm. He cough, clearing his throat, “Nonsense. This is work. Strictly professional.”

A smirk. “Suuuure thing. Whatever ya say darlin'~”

He laughs shyly, unable to keep it in. He definitely feels like one of those female protagonists now. He's even treating Jesse to lunch, that's almost as good as a bento. Maybe next he'll leave him a cute letter and confess to him behind the school building. The thought makes him laugh even harder. They are grown, nearly adults. It is silly to think such things and act in such ways. But, with Jesse, it doesn't matter.

–-

They make their way about the town, talking to a few folks along the way. Hanzo checks a name or two off his list. Jesse brings up a question that has been eating at him.

“So, did it hurt?” he asks.

Hanzo, expecting this to be the start of some bad one-liner, doesn't pay much mind to it. He simply grunts a “Hm?” in response.

Jesse motions on himself, tapping on his left pectoral, “The tattoo. Did it hurt?"

Ah. He's gotten so used to it that he hardly takes notice of it anymore. Everyone within the family is aware of it as well, no one has commented on it in quite some time. “I won't say it was painless, but it was nothing terrible. It feels like...” he searches his memory, trying to remember the sensation. It has been a few years since it's completion. “Like a prick. Thousands of tiny pricks. Along the bigger parts, with the most color, it's like a scratching feeling.” He opens up the side of his yukata slightly, allowing the ink to show. “For the large areas, they use a wider needle with more heads.

Jesse's eyes fix on the but of exposed skin. It's not like he hasn't seen it before while Hanzo practices, but it still enticing. “I dunno how you can sit there and take it. Needles give me the heebie-jeebies.” He shivers. “They tried a few times, in Deadlock, to ink me up. But no sir. I wasn't gonna have none of that.”

“Oh?” Hanzo pulled his collar back into place, much to Jesse's dismay. “I didn't take you for the type to shy away from that kind of thing.”

Jesse grins sheepishly and rubs his scruff, “What? I look like some sorta wreck-loose to you?” He snuffs and begins to finger the buttons at the top of his shirt. He unbuttons about 4 buttons down until he reaches the top of his chest plate, and pushes his bandanna out of the way. “I just don't care for needles.” He opens up his shirt and pulls the material to the side. Laying there on his skin, just below his collarbone, about 3 inches from the center, is a raised mark. A design. A brand burned into his flesh. It wasn't professionally done, which is obvious by the somewhat poor healing and thickness of the scar. But the shape is still easy to make out. It's the Deadlock insignia, the same one etched onto his lighter. “They got me with this thing real early on. Like an initiation or a hazin' or somethin'.”

Hanzo's eyes widen looking at the mark. The idea itself makes him cringe. A hot, burning rod of metal pressed into the skin until is burns a brand permanently to it's wearer. “That seems more painful than a simple tattoo.”

He shrugs, “Yeah. They had to have two guys hold me down and they shoved a block of wood into my mouth. But, y'know, if the horses could take it, I could too.”

The cowboy's thought process baffles him. Would he also drink from a trough and sleep in a stable because the horses did? Though, judging by his scraggly appearance, it doesn't seem too far from the realm of reality.

“But yeah, what does it mean? It's a dragon right?” Jesse fixes up his shirt and adjusts the bandanna on his neck.

It's a good a time as any to explain, Hanzo supposes. It's not like the Shimada dragons are some well kept secret. Everyone in Hanamura knows it's how they came into such great power. All those with Shimada blood possess dragons- his father, his grandfather and great uncle and cousins, even his great grandmother. Now himself and Genji are the next bearers. But, the dragons are not a separate entity. They are just as much Hanzo as his human body is. Take them away, and he is not whole. He is the dragons, and the dragons are him.

“It is less about meaning and more about necessity.” He explains the dragons and their power to consume foes. He tells Jesse how only Shimadas can control these beasts, and even then they can become unruly. “The tattoo is not for decoration, it is more of a....” he lifts his chin, thinking of the right way to word it, “Its more of a way to focus. The dragons manifest more easily if they are focused on a single point. Without a focusing point, they emerge from the entire body and are often weaker as a result. Think of it like the edge of a blade versus a blunt weapon. With a more refined edge, the attack is sharper. It is like... their power becomes more concentrated.”

Jesse nods, “Yeah, so it's like a funnel. Without it, the dragons would just spill out everywhere.”

That is a much easier way to put it. Hanzo takes note.

He is surprised, however, at Jesse's reaction, or lack thereof. Upon hearing about magical spirit dragons, most people would probably have at least a few questions. But Jesse, he seems more than understanding. “You are not... afraid?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, “We all got our things.” He lets out an amused breath, “You ever see a little Swedish guy drink molten liquid? We got a guy like that. I'm always asking him how he does it, but he won't tell me. And no one let's me try it either.”

“In Blackwatch? Where? I feel as if I would have noticed.”

“Nah, nah, in Overwatch. Blackwatch is for punks like me and Reyes. Overwatch is where all the shiny, good-lookin' hero types are. Mostly good-lookin'...” he rambles, “They got all sorts in there. I got a friend there, Angela, she's the best damn doctor you'll ever meet. And she's only my age! Then there's Reinhardt, he's this enormous German guy. He's the only one to ever beat me in a drinkin' contest. There's Jack... he's a boy scout, real proper type. Grade-A white bread, y'know?” His eyes soften, speaking fondly about this parallel team, “And then there's good 'ol Captain Amari. Honestly, she's taught me more about shootin' a gun than Deadlock or Blackwatch ever did. Don't tell Reyes, he thinks he's the one that taught me all my tricks. Heh.”

–-

The smell of grilled meat and fried dough wafts in the air. Jesse's nose twitches as he sniffs the air. His stomach growls audibly at the prospect of food.

“Here we are, “Hanzo says, walking up to a booth on the side of the street. He pushes back the curtains and is greeted cheerfully by the man behind the counter.

Jesse enters after him, intoxicated by the savory smells around him. His stomach continues to rumble noisily as he takes a seat next to Hanzo at the bar. He watches the chef and his assistant bustle around the kitchen, flipping some little dough-ball looking things and turning skewers of chicken. There's some weird pastries that are shaped like fish among other things that look completely bizarre to him. They weren't getting this sort of food at the estate, mostly simply meals of rice, soup, and grilled fish.

Hanzo and the head chef speak while he points at a few things. The other chef places a variety of items down on a small plate and passes it over the counter to Jesse; a couple chicken skewers and a little cardboard container with a few of those dough-balls covered in sauce and with some flakes on top.

He mumbles a thank you a bows his head shallowly.

The other's conversation ends for the moment as a plate is passed to Hanzo as well. He thanks them and then swivels to face Jesse more. He points to the food on his plate. “That is yakitori, it's just chicken.” He points to the other, “Those are called takoyaki. They have octopus in them.”

Jesse's face drops, “Octopus?” He pokes at the dough-balls with a toothpick.

“Try it,” Hanzo stabs one of his through and pops it into his mouth, “They're good.”

The cowboy is hesitant, but Hanzo seems happy as a clam chewing on the strange food.

He impales it with the toothpick and lifts it into his mouth. It sure does smell good, so it can't taste bad, right? Cautiously he opens his mouth and the flavor instantly hits him. It's so savory and salty. The sauce has a bit of acidity that bites his tongue, but the creamy mayonnaise on top blends with it well. It fills his mouth as he begins to chew. It's different than what he had expected. The dough isn't crispy, or have the usual texture of most American fried foods. It's spongy, almost wet feeling. And the bit of octopus in the center is firm and chewy. It really doesn't have too much taste honestly. There's not fishiness at all.

“Wow, yeah. That is pretty good,” Jesse swallows. Hanzo is already halfway through his own plate.

“Matsuda makes the best street-food in town. We've been working with his family for generations.” Hanzo eats his last takoyaki. “They provide food for the festival every year, as well as helping us with smuggling.”

Jesse chokes a bit. “Smuggling?” he asks with his mouth full.

Hanzo nods, “Mm, yes. They run a small farm as well as owning this stall. When they ship out crops, sometimes we will sneak in something extra.”

Weapons. Or drugs. Really, it isn't a bad plan. Who would suspect a podunk farmer to be mixing opium in with their cabbages; or a bunch of guns stashed under some chicken crates.

Hanzo is very nonchalant about the whole thing. Talking about his family's business is just something normal to him. He doesn't even try to hide it. Authorities are past the point of being able to control the Shimadas. A criminal empire is exactly what it is. An empire. The police and the law may still be the face, the ones people look to for hope and protection, but it is the crime lords who are really the ones pulling the strings.

Hanzo and Matsuda talk for a bit while Jesse finishes his meal. He listens in on them curiously, though he is unable to understand the language. Listening to the words fly from Hanzo's tongue so easily mesmerizes him. It's like a song. His voice is a beautiful instrument and his words are the choir. He speaks English just fine, albeit very proper and heavily accented, but hearing him speak his own mother-tongue is enchanting. The language itself is very beautiful in his ears. Words and letters flow in such a way, completely different from English.

“Are you finished?” Hanzo turns and asks, ending his conversation with the cook. He bows and retreats into the back. “I'll have someone do your errands for you, if you'd like.”

“Aw, nah, really it's okay I ca-"

“Hmm,” he raises one brow and leans on the counter, “I thought maybe we could spend some time together.”

Jesse pulls on his bandanna, “O-oh. Alright then.” He blushes deeply. So that's what he had in mind. “If ya insist...”

“I do.” Hanzo pushes off his seat and quickly gets to his feet. “I don't have anything else to do today.”

–-

Hanzo's back his the wall hard. His tongue mingles with Jesse's as he ruts his hips against him. Jesse's calloused fingers tangle through his long hair. His hand rests behinds his head, cushioning him from the wooden paneling.

They hide away, tucked far out of sight. The Shimada castle has many side passages, corridors, and old rooms. Many are now unused or turned into storage. The brothers explored the grounds as children. They found many secret places and knew all the paths and shortcuts. Hanzo still remembers all the places they carved their names into the wood in a fit of mischievousness.

Deft fingers make quick work of Jesse's ridiculous belt buckle. It brings him to a stop.

“Woah now, getting' a little frisky, are ya?” He pants, out of breath.

Hanzo ignore him and tries to fiddle with his chest armor. He doesn't know exactly how it attaches, it'd more high-tech than anything he's ever worn. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn't actually seen Jesse without it. Every meeting they've had, he's been fully decked out in all his gear. It's not a bad thing, to be prepared for combat at a moment's notice, but it makes Hanzo wildly curious.

Jesse gently pushes back on his shoulders, “Hey hey hey, woah, slow down.”

“What? Do you not feel the same?” He does halt, looking up at Jesse through his dark lashes. His brows crease in the center, confused as to the sudden hesitation.

Jesse groans and bites his lip. “No, it's not that. I just... Not here darlin'.”

Hanzo still doesn't understand what he means. Not here? They are alone, private. And Jesse doesn't seem the type to be shy about public affection. So what is the problem?

He leans down and kisses the top of his forehead. His hand cups Hanzo's strong jaw as he lifts it to place a kiss on his lips as well. “If we're gonna do it- and fuck, I wanna do it, we're gonna do it right, okay?”He thumbs circles into Hanzo's cheek. “You're too good for this, sneakin' around and getting' dirty in a fuckin' storage closet.”

It is not a closet, but nevertheless, he lets Jesse continue.

He exhales through his nose softly, smiling. “I wanna treat you good, honey. I want ya to enjoy it.” His fingers brush a strand of hair away from Hanzo's deep earthy eyes that look at him with such perplexity. He chuckles, “Nah nah, don't be lookin' at me with them puppy-dog eyes. Trust me, it's better this way.”

“What do you suggest then?” Hanzo nearly cringes at the formality of it. It feels weird talking about such a subject like this. Planning it.

“Let me come by yer place later. After dark.”

He ponders the thought, pouting out his lip, “Well, I don't see why not. As long as no one spots you...” He trails off, muttering to himself.

Jesse gives him a rushed peck on the tip of his nose, already turning on his heels to bound off, “Gotcha! Don't get caught!”

“Wait!” Hanzo grabs his wrist before he can run off, “What is the hurry?”

“Well, I got a lot of preparations to make! Such as uh...” He lifts up one arm and sniffs his pit in a showy display, over-exaggerating the stench, “I gotta shower and get all gussied up. Wha- what! Why are ya laughin'?”

Hanzo covers his mouth, giggling, “Nothing, nothing. Fine, go. I'll leave my window unlocked.” He releases Jesse's wrist and waves his off. The cowboy's eagerness and energy are inexplicably endearing. Why does he do it? Why does he make so much effort to be so charismatic and charming? It seems to come naturally to him, but is that really it? One might assume he's hiding something, or covering something up. Hanzo already knows about his spotty past with the Rebels, but that hardly seems bad enough to be just... so goddamn good.

–-

After returning home and taking a bath himself, Hanzo waits in his room. Every minute he sits and watches the shadows grow longer, waiting for the darkness to take them completely.

His room is dim, save for the small desk lamp that he often forgets to turn off. He thinks that maybe he'll do some reading while he waits. Stacks of dog-eared books sit on his book shelf. He lazily crawls from his futon to arms-reach of the shelf, grabbing the first random book he finds. After his bath, he's relaxed, maybe even a bit sleepy.

He takes the book back to bed with him, cracking open the cover and flipping to the marked page. He thinks back, trying to recall what had happened last in the story. There's a ragtag group of adventurers in search of a secret key to defeat a demon king, and they had just come across a village asking them for help. At night, the brave hero steps outside to discover that everyone in the village is possessed, roaming about and meowing like cats. It is a strange story, but he does get enjoyment out of it.

Not even a chapter in, his eyes grow heavy and he closes them, only intending it to be but for a second. Weariness takes him, and he succumbs to sleep.

After what only feels like a few minutes, he's awoken with a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

“Mmmm...” he groans, turning over and squeezing his eyes open. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and the blurry image of the cowboy is in his vision. “Jesse?” he asks, voice sleepy and unintentionally slurred, “What time is it?"

“Pretty late,” he whispers, “Do ya just wanna sleep? We don't have to do this now...” He pets the hair on Hanzo's head, smoothing down the stray strands of bed-head.

Hanzo grumbles and loops his arms around Jesse's broad shoulders, “No.” He makes sleepy noises against the crook of his neck. “Stay with me.”

“Didn't say I was goin' nowhere...”

Jesse closes the cover of Hanzo's abandoned reading material and sets it aside on his desk. He struggles to move, however, with the young dragon clinging to him, heavy with sleep. He takes this moment to look around the room, illuminated by the yellow-hued desk lamp. The room looks nothing like what a normal teenager would live in. There's no posters on the walls, no clothes on the floor; the usual tell-tale signs of a teen. Though, Hanzo's less of a teenager and more of an adult. Still, the lack of personal touches feels a bit... sad. Instead, he has a book shelf, a desk, a wardrobe and closet, and a shot table with cushions pushed out of the way to make room for his futon.

The only thing he has that doesn't serve some function is a framed photograph propped on the corner of the desk. It's hard to make out with the glare, but it looks to be of a woman. His mother?

Jesse stares too long, as indicated by Hanzo's tugging on him and pulling him back to the futon. “Get over here...” he mumbles, putting lazy kisses over the expanse of Jesse's neck.

“I'm comin', I'm comin',” he smiles, letting himself be pulled down to the soft cushioning. “Sure yer up for this?”

He nods and grunts in affirmation. If his hands are any indicator, he is ready to go. He can't keep them to himself at this point, slowly and languidly running them up and down Jesse's back and sides. “I don't see why we had to wait.”

Jesse snorts, “Well, there is one big reason.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a square foil package, “I didn't have any rubbers on me at the time.”

“Jesse. You do know I am not a woman.”

“Course I know that!” he nearly raises his voice. “It's not for that, it's just easier cleanup 'n stuff. And as much as I'd like ya to ride bareback, it'll be a little easier on ya this way.”

It isn't that Hanzo is naive about sex, he knows enough. He is still a virgin, true, but that doesn't mean he is completely oblivious. God knows he learned more than he ever wanted to know from Genji. He knows the basics, but it never occurred to him that a condom was used for more than just preventing pregnancy.

“Aaaand~” Jesse reaches into his back pocket and brings out a clear little bottle, filled with equally clear liquid. “I also didn't have this. This is the most important thing.”

“What is it?”

“Lube darlin'.” Jesse's brow quirks up, amused.

How is he so prepared? Why does he have this stuff? He's a whole year younger. Albeit, Hanzo is a bit of a prude, he wouldn't have expected Jesse to be so much more knowledgeable. Honestly, from the way he stuttered and flustered when they first met, he half expected him to be a virgin as well.

He eyes the bottle, then looks to Jesse. “Why did you bring lube with you to Japan?” His tone is flat as granite.

He sputters briefly, pulling down his hat. “I, uh... I just sorta keep it in my bag. In case of emergencies. Y'know.”

“In case there's an emergency situation that calls for lube.”

“Oh hush. Be happy that I brought it. Yer backside would be damn sore if I didn't.”

He's quiet, looking away and to the floor, “Will it be painful?”

Jesse clucks his tongue and wraps his thick arms around him, cradling him against his chest. Hanzo can hear his heart pounding. He's not wearing his armor.

“I'll make it good for ya, baby,” he coos into the shell of Hanzo's ear, “But if ya wanna stop, just tell me, okay? I ain't gonna keep goin' if yer not enjoyin' it.”

Truly a gentleman.

Hanzo rolls his eyes. He's tried of all the chatter. From what he knew, sex is supposed to be this flash of passion; an explosion of energy and pheromones. He's nervous and the longer they sit around, the more nervous he'll get. He'll back out. He'll get too shy. He has to do it now while his inhibitions are still lost in the nighttime.

Pulling Jesse atop him, he rests his back down on the futon. His knees bend slightly with Jesse positioning himself with one leg between Hanzo's and the other on the outside of his thigh. Their faces meld together in sloppy kisses while their bodies rut against each other.

Jesse's hips roll just right, his thigh providing welcome friction against Hanzo's growing arousal. He grips his back, clutching to the worn fabric of his shirt. He doesn't know what else to do, other than hold on for dear life and let Jesse take the lead. He's still tired and his head is cloudy, but the cowboy has more than enough energy for the both of them.

He takes it slow; slower than he needs to. He's careful, cautious. Every move seems to ask, 'Is this okay?' or 'Are _you_ okay?' He groans into Hanzo's mouth, gripping the blankets beneath them.

Hanzo can feel the heat against his leg and the bulge growing in Jesse's(already tight) pants. His garish belt buckle digs uncomfortably into his hip with each roll of Jesse's. It's too big, not to mention noisy. Jesse himself is a noisy person. The buckle taps against his ammo belt, the spurs on his booted feet jingle, and he himself breaths heavily and groans.

To any other person, the noise would be nothing, the sounds being lost through the walls. But the Shimadas have sharp ears. Any noise that seems out of place would surely wake someone.

“S-stop...” Hanzo huffs, pulling back.

Immediately freezing, Jesse looks dejected. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes, just-” he sighs. His brain is frazzled and the English doesn't come to him right away, “Take them off, your belt and shoes.”

Relief spreads across his face. “Right, right,” he mumbles. “Sorry, I forgot, y'all take off your shoes inside.”

Not the point he's going for, but he'll take it.

Jesse scrambles up, managing to make an annoying amount of noise as he does so. He slips off his boots one at the time and tosses them to the ground with a thud. His belt is next. His trembling fingers have trouble getting it off with any sort of grace, but he manages. Instead of just setting it aside, he takes the opportunity to unzip his pants and let them fall in a heap around his ankles. He nearly sighs in relief at the freedom.

Hanzo watches him, lewdly. He had expected Jesse to wear flashier underwear; perhaps an American flag pattern, or a scene straight out of a Clint Eastwood movie plastered across his ass, but it isn't the case. They're black boxer-briefs. Simple. Classic. Probably standard issue. They don't leave much to the imagination, however. The sizable bulge in the front seems ready to burst out.

He returns to Hanzo, who is slipping off his own clothing. He has less to worry about. It only takes about three seconds for him to disrobe completely; pulling off his obi pretty much takes care of the job. Jesse stares down at the sight before him. Raven hair splayed like a halo around his head, dragon tattoo roping down the muscles of his well-trained arm, eyelids heavy, lashes fluttering against rosy cheeks; he's the most goddamn beautiful sight that Jesse's every seen. He's left breathless.

He can't savor the sight too long, as Hanzo pulls him back in. “Come on, cowboy,” he says, snatching the hat from his head, “I grow tired of waiting.”

It's too much to resist, and Jesse is putting in no effort to do so. He's sure that he has the stupidest expression on his face. He probably looks like a goober, but Hanzo looks at him like no one ever has. Sex had never been romantic for him. If anything, it was just something to do to pass the time and let off a little steam. He'd never been this nervous before. Why is his heart racing? Is this what it's like to- he feels silly thinking such a thing- be in love?

Hanzo's hands are cold, but his body is warm and inviting. Thankfully, his heart is pounding just as hard. Jesse didn't want to be the only one.

He hovers over him, positioning himself once against to straddle atop the other's thigh. He takes Hanzo's lips, distracting him from the hand creeping down his frame. Jesse's fingertips glide over the hard, toned, muscles of his chest and abdomen. God, Hanzo is jacked. All those muscles packed into such a small frame are slightly terrifying, given you're on the wrong end of the stick. But, Jesse can't get enough. He's jealous, just a little, but most enamored.

He traces his fingers along, following every dip and dimple of his partner's skin. His hand linger just above Hanzo's hip, rubbing his thumb in circles over his obliques. Hanzo squirms under the touch.

“That tickles,” he says low and hushed.

His hands find work elsewhere, making Hanzo gasp as they begin to fondle his groin. His knees instantly rise, thighs pressing together. The sensation is like nothing he's ever felt. Being a young man, just barely older than a boy, he's had his share of... experimentation. He's touched himself before. He knows what his own hand feels like. His palms are broad, fingers slender, but strong.

Jesse's hands are big. His fingers are stocky and rectangular. They're calloused and scarred. His nails aren't really cared for in any way, just short, bitten like his cuticles. His knuckles show signs of being split open and healed many times over. Most of all, though, his hands are warm.

They know exactly what to do, slipping inside Hanzo's undergarments to make full contact. He squirms again.

“You okay?” Jesse whispers, his breath hot.

A nod.

He relaxes his legs from their vice grip around the cowboy's hand. He lets the man do his work.

Working his hand up and down, gently, he perks Hanzo up into a state of full arousal. His mouth, meanwhile, leaves marks up and down the Shimada's neck. It's like a sign. It's poorly written graffiti on a concrete wall saying 'Jesse was here'.

Hanzo lets his head fall to the side, his fingers curl into the bedding as Jesse works him up. Without his notice, his underwear is pulled off, leaving him fully exposed before the other male. The chill of the night really hits him and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Cold, darlin'?” Jesse rises, using his unoccupied hand to bring Hanzo's face to his own. He peppers little kisses across his jaw. “I'll warm ya up real good.”

Of that he has no doubt.

He hooks one leg behind Jesse's knee. Their hips grind together, causing him to shudder at the pleasant feeling. Jesse makes no sound other than a hum as he reach around blind in the dark for his discarded pants; pulling out that little bottle from the back pocket.

Giving no warning or sign, his hands grabs quite a plentiful handful of Hanzo's ass, squeezing crudely. He groans like someone presented with a feast they aren't allowed to partake in. “I want ya real bad, honey.” He ruts against him again, “Say I can?”

A hand promptly finding it's way into his boxers is answer enough.

He applies a good amount of the slick liquid to one hand. He takes Hanzo's mouth to distract him from what is surely to be an uncomfortable feeling.

He starts out with one finger, testing, easing. Hanzo noticeably tenses. Jesse is gentle and patient, giving him as much time as he needs, despite his own lust gnawing the back of his mind. Once he relaxes, Jesse adds another. He doesn't want to hurt Hanzo by getting ahead of himself. He must remind himself over and over; take it easy, take it slow.

The feeling isn't bad, just strange and new. The physical sensation is only half of it. The closeness of it all is what gets to him more. Hanzo is not one to let his guard down and allow someone to invade his space so intimately. In battle, once someone is within that close, personal distance, once of the parties is going to die.

But, here he is; naked and writhing against this stranger. Really, that's what Jesse is. They've known one another for barely a few weeks. He doesn't know anything about him, besides the stories he's been told. Jesse could be lying through his teeth about everything. This could all be some sick ploy.

But, for some reason, he trusts him.

Can someone really fake being so genuine?

A third digit breaks him from this train of thought and back to the task at hand.

“J-Jesse...” His teeth grit tightly as he hisses out a breath.

Chapped lips against his skin soothe him. He coos, “It's alright...”

–-

It doesn't take long before they're both inebriated on the other's touch.

Jesse positions himself between Hanzo's legs, spreading apart his knees to make room for his wide frame. Both their faces share a similar shade of pink.

He leans over to whisper to his lover one more time, “Hey.”

“What are you waiting for.”

“I just wanted to tell ya somethin'.”

Hanzo's hips squirm in anticipation, “What?”

“I think I love you.”

His face scrunches at the words and he can't help but laugh in disbelief and turn his head away, covering it with his tattooed arm.

“What? What's wrong?”

Hanzo peeks out, “You really have a knack for timing, don't you?” He's laying there beneath him, totally and completely exposed, looking like a complete idiot, and then he goes and says something like that. It's comical. “I was at least going to wait until after...”

Jesse's face lights up and he almost crushes Hanzo under the weight of his embrace. He grumbles, pushing him off. “Stop, it's embarrassing,” he shyly averts his gaze, still shifting.

Jesse's warm hands trail down Hanzo's flank, takin f hold of his hips and planting them in place. “I promise I'll be as gentle as possible.”

“I don't care how you do it, just do it already!” He has to catch himself before he starts shouting. His nerves make him impatient. He bites down on his bottom lip. He's scared and excited at the same time. He want to explode.

He gasps, being drawn into Jesse's lap. He swallows down the lump in his throat and tilts his chin down, watching him position himself. He doesn't want to watch, but the morbid curiosity eats at him. He wants to close his eyes and brace himself, but instead he watches with eyes wide open.

The level of discomfort isn't something he entirely expected. His jaw drops, lips tightening around his teeth. He throws his head back, groaning and wincing as Jesse pushes inside of him.

“I'm sorry darlin'. It hurts at first, but trust me, it'll feel a lot better soon.”

He looks up, chuckling wryly through the pain, “It better-” he gasps, “Or you'll be meeting the sharp end of a sword.”

Jesse laughs, “Kinky.”

–-

It does feel much better as the both of them start to heat up. He relaxes and lets his body go with it. Jesse guides with with small touches; a palm behind his hips arches his back up, a tap with two fingers tells him to turn over onto his knees.

Jesse stops talking when he's concentrating; Hanzo picks up on his fairly quickly. He almost misses the unceasing chatter. In a way it comforts him.

“J-Jesse... ah... it feels... good.”

He grunts in response.

“Jesse... I'm... mmmm.”

He taps him again, on the side of the leg, pulling out and urging Hanzo onto his back. He wants to look at him.

Hanzo's lips purse, his eyebrows crease in the middle. He reaches out a shaky hand and places it against Jesse's scruffy cheek.

Jesse takes the hand into hand into his own, softly pressing his lips against Hanzo's palm, and places it back to his face, enclosing it there under his. It's tender, sweet.

“Just let go if ya need to,” he whispers.

Hanzo moans, raising his hips, trying his best to hold it in. He doesn't want it to end.

“C'mon darlin'... for me... Come for me.”

It's so lewd and vulgar.

“C'mon baby... c'mon...” His motions become irregular. Sweat drips from his brow. His muscles tense up. He moves faster and harder. He's arrived at his peak as well. “Fuck... Hanz-Hanzo...”

Hanzo inhales with a shiver, unable to contain himself any longer. He quivers, quickly wrapping his arms around Jesse for support as he releases in a sticky mess between them. His body tremors and quakes.

Jesse comes shortly after, growling and clutching Hanzo in return.

They ride out their waves, clinging to each other and breathing heavily. They fall exhausted and wholly beat onto the futon.

–-

Jesse pulls the blankets over them, the warmth instantly luring him in with the promise of sleep. He turns over, drawing Hanzo in close and snuggling against him. “You okay?” He pauses, “Hold on, lemme just...” He leans over Hanzo awkwardly, crushing him briefly as he digs through the pockets of his wrinkled pants. “Here we go~” He pulls out a fancy embroidered handkerchief from the back pocket.

He uses the bit of cloth to clean up the mess made over their bellies, then tosses it aside and reclines back beside his lover. His rubber had been already tied off and thrown into the trash; couldn't just leave something like that laying around for a poor maid to find.

After some silence, Hanzo speaks up. “Can I ask you something?” He curls up in Jesse's arms.

“Course.”

“Do you ever have... trouble sleeping?”

“You havin' nightmares?” His interested is caught. He sits up, propped on his elbow.

“Not exactly.” He sighs and pushes back his hair, staring up at the ceiling. “I see them. The men I killed.”

Jesse frowns, “Yer still thinkin' about all that? Ya gotta just put it out of yet mind, darlin'.”

“I do not know how. Every time I close my eyes I see them. I see the blood and hear their final words echo in my mind. I just... I can't stop thinking about it. Then, I just think about all the others in the future I'll have to slaughter and-”

“No no no, shhhh....” Jesse wraps him up in his arms. “Don't think about that now. Just be here in this moment, with me.”

Hanzo exhales shakily, “How do you remain so level-headed.”

“You just gotta be a little selfish. Ya gotta think only of yerself and those who matter to ya. As long as that's all fine and dandy, then who do other people matter?” He kisses Hanzo's forehead, “But, yeah. I used to have nightmares about that sorta thing too. Soon enough ya just block it all out.”

“And that's it?”

He shrugs, “When I was a kid and had trouble sleepin', my Momma would sing to me.”

 

A memory comes to him. It's hazy but vaguely familiar. He sees his mother, her dark hair falling over her shoulder in a neat braid. Her skin is pale with her lips painted bright red. Her mouth moves, but he can't make out the words. She sits over him, stroking his head gently. She's pregnant, so this must be a very old memory, from before Genji's birth. Perhaps it isn't even a memory. Perhaps it never happened and he is simply imagining all of it. He starts to hear the sounds from her mouth, but the words are in a foreign tongue he doesn't understand.

 

_Luna lunera, cascabelera,_

_ve y dile a mi amorcito_

_por Dios que me quiera_

 

The words are not hers. Her memory fades away, replaced with the scruffy man before him.

 

_Dile que no vivo de tanto padecer,_

_dile que a mi lado debiera volver_

 

He lays beside him, arm embracing him.

 

_Luna lunera, cascabelera,_

_ve y dile a mi amorcito_

_por Dios que me quiera_

 

He cannot understand the words, and the cowboy's voice is rough at best, but the melody is calming.

 

_Dile que me muero,_

_que tenga compasión,_

_dile que se apiade de mi corazón_

 

Jesse struggles to keep his voice down to a whisper. He cracks on certain notes and goes nearly unheard on others. He isn't a trained singer and would probably sound much better with an acoustic guitar and a bottle of beer in hand.

But the melody.

Hanzo's eyes grow heavy. He wants to listen, though he does not know the meaning. He drifts in and out of sleep, catching only bits of the remainder of the song. He doesn't know if Jesse finishes singing by the time he's completely out.

 

_Dile que se apiade de mi corazón,_

_dile que se apiade de mi corazón._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song Jesse sings if y'all are interested. It's super beautiful.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrbUwjCsiUo
> 
> Brownie points to anyone who knows the reference of Hanzo's book.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After thinking about it alot, I decided to keep this one short and sweet.  
> Cause its gonna be pretty painful from here on out.  
> Sorry.  
> :')
> 
> *edit: went in and changed Papa Shimada's name to what it's been confirmed in canon.

“McCree. Get over here. Now.” Reyes stands, arms crossed, chin raised, and brows knitted. He gives Jesse a not-so-warm welcome as he returns back to their quarters early in the morning. “Care to explain?”

He avoids answering the question and counters it with a question of his own, “Explain what?”

“Boy, don't test me. You're walking _towards_ our quarters and you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday. What the fuck were you doing?”

He snuffs, turning cheek and walking right past his commander. “Hell Reyes, you know I ain't one to do my laundry every day. Lay off. I was just out for a walk.” His arms relax behind his head as he yawns wide-mouthed. “Ain't no more to it than that.”

The disrespect the kid shows is astounding. Not more than a year ago, he'd been at the mercy of Overwatch. Now he waltzes around like he's the one in charge. Reyes doesn't want to, but it might be time to put him in his place.

Without any sort of gentleness or hesitation he grabs the boy's arm with bruising force, whipping him around and slamming him against the wall. He yelps, but is promptly silenced by a single finger places on his lips, warning him.

“Listen _mijo_ , I'm not a fucking idiot. I've seen the way you look at him.”

Jesse opens his mouth to protest, but the commander's sharp eyes heed him to stay silent.

“Be thankful that Shimada-san isn't interested in his son's personal life. I don't think he'd take too kindly to someone like you fucking around with him.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Someone like me?” He snaps.

Reyes pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, “Face it kid, you two are from different worlds. You're a lowlife, everyone in Blackwatch is. We're dogs. The Shimadas are big time, almost like royalty around here. What makes you think that the heir to a criminal empire and fortune would go for you, a kid from New Mexico with nothing more than a name?”

“It's not...”

“What? It's not like that?” Reyes tilts his head and smirks; a condescending look. “Lemme guess, you're in love, you've never felt like this before. You just have this inexplicable chemistry, right? It's bullshit, McCree. Life doesn't work like that. Hanzo has no need for you. You're an insect under his heel. If he's smart enough, he'd have been extracting information from you this entire time.” He unhands Jesse, pushing him around, guiding him into a more private area to speak. “So, what about you? Have you found out anything useful?”

He's at a loss for words. His world is spinning, ripped and shredded apart. He doesn't believe what Reyes is spouting. Hanzo couldn't just be losing him. What would he have to gain? Deadlock is gone; it's not like he has any more relevant information on them. Maybe about Blackwatch? Are the Shimadas suspicious of them?

The briefing they'd all been given before their mission was simple; to act as a small protection team to safeguard the family before and during their yearly festival due to increased aggression upon them recently, and then afterwards a few would stay as hired on guards. It was the Shimadas that had reached out to them when they heard that a former 'colleague' was working among them. Jokes on them that it happened to be the shit-head little cowboy. How they found out that classified information is still a mystery.

So why would they be trying to deceive them? What gain is there? And what sort of useful information would he get from Hanzo? Weren't they all supposed to trust each other? It really makes no sense to have guards who you fear would just as easily shoot you in the head themselves. Trust has to go both ways.

“We've never talked about that sorta thing...”

“You're not supposed to talk about it. You're supposed to gather information. Clues, subtleties, inconsistencies.” He drags a hand over his face, groaning and mumbling to himself, “Fucking useless.”

Jesse's fists grow sore from being clenched to tightly at his sides. His knuckles are white and his nails leave crescent imprints on his palms. “I don't feel right talkin' like this. What Hanzo and I do, it's nobody's business.” His eyes are hidden beneath the brim of his hat, looking down at the floor; anywhere but at Reyes.

“Well you've _made_ it my business. You're a liability now, McCree. What if something goes down? Can I really trust you?”

He doesn't respond, and instead works his jaw.

“Can I trust you to take aim at him? If he held a blade to my throat, would you pull the trigger?”

Jesse remains wordless and despondent.

“McCree!”

He's met with a swift slap across his face from Reyes's heavy hand. He's knocked back a few steps, rubbing the sore tender swell of his cheek.

“I didn't bring you here so you could get a fucking boyfriend. I brought you here to work. I can drop your ass at any time. Do not test me. I can put you right back into prison where you belong.”

Jesse leers at him with the eyes of a cornered animal; pupils like pin points and lids wide open. He has a long fuse on his temper, but Reyes has managed to ignite it. His lips pull back, exposing his gritted teeth. “Of course I'm not gonna fuckin' betray you. Who the fuck do ya think I am, Reyes? You think I'm still some criminal? Some outlaw?”

“If you don't want to be painted as one, stop acting like one. No more sneaking around. You stay with the rest of the team unless I tell you otherwise. You think I like being asked every fucking day why I let you wander around doing whatever you please? I'm done with this, McCree. I'm done with babying you.”

“I never fuckin' asked ya to! Maybe you should'a just let me rot in a cell with the Rebels!”

Reyes huffs, sarcastically replying, “I regret my decision every day.” He jabs a rough finger at Jesse's chest, “From now on you're gonna be on strict watch. You're not seeing the Shimada kid anymore. It's done. Over.”

A wetness surfaces in the corners of Jesse's eyes. “Fuck you! Like Hell it is!” He thought he was done with puberty, but his voice cracks anyway.

Reyes repeats again, emphasizing, “It's over.”

Jesse shoves his commander in the chest, but Reyes is sturdy enough to keep his ground. “Just because yer upset about Morrison doesn't mean that ya gotta spoil it for everyone! Yer just a fucking bitter old hag! No wonder Jackie-boy dumped yer ass!” He pokes a finger right back at him, “I'm not gonna suffer just cause yer angry. You don't know shit about what me and Hanzo have. I love him. Don't that mean nothin' to ya?”

“Quite frankly, no. It doesn't. I don't care what your hormones are telling you, McCree. We are here for a job. This is work. Imagine if Shimada-san caught you instead of me. If you don't want to get us all fired or possibly killed, you need to start acting responsibly.” Reyes takes a deep breath to calm his voice. He knows he can't win a screaming match with the kid. Jesse has got himself an impressive set of pipes. If he's going to reason with him at all, he needs to sound reasonable himself.

“Fuck you. Fuck this.” He throws his hands up. “I'm done. Fucking lock me up for all I care. This is bullshit.” He whirls around, turning back the direction from which he came, towards the door. He throws the door open and shoves his hands into his pockets, slouching over and stomping of towards the Shimada's house, ignoring all over words from Reyes. He tosses back a tasteful middle-finger, just to really make his point.

“McCree! Get back here! McCree! Jesse!” he calls. He runs after him for a few steps, but decides against it. He's told himself time and again that the kid just needs time to cool his head. Whenever he's mad he just needs a smoke break and then he comes back, chipper as ever. Reyes grumbles, punching the air a few times, letting off a bit of steam himself. It's time for McCree to grow up. Maybe cooling his head won't be enough. He needs to learn. As much as he doesn't want to, Reyes will have to take drastic measures. It's time. The kid will get himself in serious trouble if he keeps on the way he is.

–-

He steps out for a smoke and a walk. God, the kid is gonna hate him for this. He probably won't forgive him any time soon. Goddammit. He kicks the dirt, sending a few stones flying different directions. He scratches at his beanied head. It's for his own good. He cares about McCree; probably more than the damn ingrate deserves.

Shimada-san has to know. Of course, he has the oh so pleasant job of telling him. Hopefully the friendship he'd been developing with the crime-lord would soften the blow. If he'd have caught them, he's not sure if McCree would still be sporting a head on his shoulders.

He's heard all the rumors and legends about the Shimada family. And from what he's heard, Sojiro Shimada is not a man to be taken lightly. Sojiro Shimada is a man killer. Most of all, Sojiro Shimada cares deeply about his family. He may not trifle in his sons' personal affairs, but once something threatens to tear apart the empire he's built, there is nothing that will stop him from fighting tooth and nail to protect what he has worked so hard to cultivate.

It's for Hanzo's sake too. He doesn't want the poor kid feeling the entire brunt of his father's wrath.

So. That's that.

Shit.

He takes a long last drag from his cigarette before flicking it into the gravel. If it wasn't so early in the morning he might partake in some liquid courage to help him out. He might just pussy out on the long walk there. Who knows.

–-

Jesse stomps all the way back to Hanzo's home, where he had just left. It's still early. Everyone is just waking up. Dew still hangs heavy and fat on the cherry blossoms. He easily hops the fences, as he'd done the previous night. He's careful of any eyes that might see him, but luckily no one is up and about yet.

He follows the path up to the house through the blooming gardens and winding walkway. It took him a couple tries to find Hanzo's room last night, in fact he came knocking on the wrong window and was instead met with a very confused, but very intrigued Genji. Thankfully he pointed him in the right direction and promised not to say a peep.

He finds the window again, checking it and finding it unlocked, like he'd left it when he snuck out. He opens it and crawls back through quietly.

Hanzo has bid him farewell when he left earlier, waking up only briefly to do so. He's curled up in bed, still sleeping. Jesse tiptoes across the floor and kneels down at his bedside. Giving him a gentle shake, he waits for him to come to his senses.

“Mmm... Jesse? What... why are you still here?”

“Not happy to see me?” he teases.

“N-no... I just thought....” Hanzo sits up, rubbing his eyes and blinking away some of his sleepiness. “I thought you left already.”

Jesse wraps him up from behind, blankets and all, into his big arms. He whispers softly into his ear, resting his chin on Hanzo's shoulder. “I did, but I came back for ya. Get dressed. Let's go out.”

“Out? What do you mean?”

“Just us. Let's go somewhere, away from all this. I wanna be with ya. I don't wanna hide it. I wanna be somewhere where no one can find us.”

Hanzo leans his head, letting it rest against Jesse's. “We'll be abandoning out duties. I'm supposed to meet with my tutor this morning.”

“I don't care.” He gives him a tight squeeze. “I don't care about any of that. Please, come with me.” Their heads nuzzle together, “I just really need ya right now.”

Hanzo shifts around, popping one arm out from beneath the covers. “Well, I can't get dresses unless you let me go,” he laughs softly, squirming and wiggling his way out of Jesse's arms. He frees himself from the cowboy's strong embrace, turning to plant a quick kiss on the tip of his nose before standing up. He loses his balance slightly, not expecting the strange feeling from his backside. Shrugging it off, he does what he set out to do, get dressed.

“Where are we going?” he asks as he rummages through the hangers in his closet.

“You tell me, sugar. I don't know this place. Somewhere we can be alone.”

“Hm, I have an idea, I think. I haven't been there since I was a child so I don't think anyone will look for us there.”

He dresses and excuses himself to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He offers a spare toothbrush to Jesse, who takes the bathroom after him.

“Do you want anything to eat? Some tea? Coffee?” Hanzo offers when he emerges, waiting quietly outside.

“Um,” he pulls at his bandanna, “I'm alright. I don't wanna intrude. I don't think yet daddy would be all to pleased with me being here.” He's pretty surprised as he looks around the house. It's more simple than he would have imagined. There are no lavish decorations, no state of the art electronics. The floors are just as creaky as any other house. He keeps an ear out for any other footsteps. He really doesn't want to face Hanzo's father.

“I suppose you're right. We can stop while we're out if you want.” Hanzo motions for Jesse to follow him, leading him to the front door. He slips on a simple, comfortable pair of sandals instead of his noisy wooden geta.

By now, a few servants have woken up and gotten started with their duties. Hanzo pays them no mind as he opens the door. In return, they barely acknowledge him. Jesse pulls down his hate to cover his face and slumps over, trying to make himself as small as possible. It's not like he can hide his identity. He's the only one gallivanting around like he's straight out of The Wild West.

They quickly make their way to the front gate, hurrying along so to not catch anymore unwanted attention. They slip through and Hanzo mentions, “We might make the next trolley. We won't have to walk the entire way.” Even though he hasn't been there for years, he still remembers how to get there. Hopefully the place is as he remembers it. If it isn't, he doesn't really have a backup.

Jesse takes his hand firmly barely steps past the gate. He doesn't say a word the entire way to the trolley. It is a bit worrying to Hanzo, as normally he's a chatterbox. Not a word is said as he stares forward, eyes glossed over and unfocused. But, his grip remains strong. He doesn't release Hanzo's hand for even a second, even when a few townspeople look their way. Out of the confining castle-grounds, they're free.

They board a small single-manned trolley a few blocks away. Mostly it is used by commuters who needed to go into the city every morning for work. A few men and women with briefcases wearing fancy suits sit near the front, eyes peering at the boys as they make their way to the back of the car. Hanzo doesn't look so much out of place, but Jesse earns a few stares.

Once they sit down, Hanzo confronts Jesse on his strange behavior. “Is something the matter? You're acting strangely today.” He nudges him, as he still remains silent. “Jesse? What's wrong?”

He exhales deeply, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, his normal goofy grin spreads across his face, but Hanzo is not convinced at its sincerity. “I'm fine, I'm fine. What have I told ya about worryin' about me?”

“That's when your face was black and blue,” he notes. If he doesn't want to talk about it, fine. It's his business, Hanzo has no right to pry. Despite telling himself this, he's extremely curious. Is he mad at him for something? No, that makes no sense. He asked him to come out with him. He's been holding his hand nonstop. Did something change between now and last night? Maybe it was something that happened last night. Was Jesse displeased with him, or disappointed? The things Hanzo tells himself make no sense at all. He's not used to situations such as these. He doesn't have friends. He's not good with people

He'll let it go for now. He doesn't want to spoil their spontaneous adventure by pushing and asking too many questions. Jesse's not one to keep secrets (besides their little love affair), he'll talk when he's ready.

\--

The trolley makes a few stops along the way and picks up more passengers. It's never overcrowded, but by the time they reach the city most of the seats are filled. Just as quickly as people piled in, they pile out at their respective stations. Hanzo waits, their stop is last. He remembers.

Out the windows, the city whizzes by. It's grey, mostly. Skyscrapers and office buildings line both sides of the track. Times like this, he does appreciate the pink blossoms covering his home. It's a much more pleasant color than grey.

The trolley slows and the conductor stands up once it reaches a full stop. He opens up the door and steps out himself. There's probably a bit of time before it needs to start running again.

Hanzo gets up, followed by Jesse as they maneuver down the cramped, narrow walkway. He thanks the conductor as they hop off. Jesse tips his hat to the man as they pass by and head for the station exit. There's one one trolley that runs there, so its a small place.

They've passed by most of the hustle and bustle of the city. They're past the towering skyscrapers and the dank, dull offices. At the end of the line there isn't much. A few local restaurants dot the streets, but between them are expanses of trees and flowers. A trickling brook lies at the end of the road, a tiny ramshackle bridge crosses over it, though its not deep. The water is ankle-deep at most.

“My mother used to bring me here when I was young. It's technically a park, but there's nothing there really. No one goes to parks anymore,” he explains, careful to keep his footing as he crosses the creaky little bridge. “Jesse... I am concerned though. You are sure you're all right?”

“Yeah, fine! I just wanted to be with ya, hun,” he smiles. He takes hold of Hanzo's upper arm, keeping both of them steady to cross. “Really. Trust me.”

“Mm... okay.” He's still not entirely convinced.

They trek deep into the winding woods, Hanzo promises there's a clearing not too far up ahead. Sunlight leaks through the leaves and paints the ground in splotches of light. It's quiet. The only sounds heard are the pattering feet of small animals running up the trees or into the bushes. Birds chirp and sing their little songs, just for them. He remembers now how much he loved coming here with his mother. It's a safe space, away from all the stress of life.

The pockets of light open up and become bigger as they go on. The trees begin to clear up, becoming sparse as a field of bright green grass and flowers cut open the shadowy trees. Some finely maintained walkways circle and lead through it. Some benches and tables sit beneath single trees growing in the meadow. Hanzo brightens, seeing his favorite spot, where he and his mother would sometimes sit for hours looking at the clouds and telling stories.

There's a rolling hill with a huge cherry blossom tree at the top. It grows wider and taller than any sakura he'd seen in his life. It's him that grabs Jesse's hand this time, a childlike excitement growing in him. “Up there, that is the spot.”

Climbing up the hill proves to be no trouble for either of them. It's not too steep. It seems so much smaller than when Hanzo was younger. Back then he saw it like a mountain. But, most importantly, it's private. For once, they're alone; no one around at all.

They sit atop the hill, side by side. Finally, Jesse is the first to speak, after they sit in complacent silence for a few minutes. He rests his hands behind his head and lays back, looking up at the sky, and then casually, as if it's just normal conversation he says, “Y'know, I think I'd like to marry you one day.”

Hanzo smiles, suppressing a laugh behind his hand, “That's hardly a decent proposal.” He lays down beside Jesse, letting his arm lazily flop across him. “Besides, I am already betrothed. It's to a... a nice girl a few towns over.”

Jesse feigns shock and heartbreak, “Oh yeah, what's her name?”

Hanzo pauses, “It is... Jessica.”

“Bullshit. Ain't nobody nowhere in Japan named Jessica,” he laughs, giving Hanzo a playful squeeze in the side. “I'll fight her for ya. I'll kick her ass.” He changes position, turning more onto his side so he can see Hanzo face to face. “Ain't no one is gonna take you away from me.”

Hanzo buries himself deep in Jesse's broad chest, “Is that why you wanted to come out here today? To give me your weird version of a proposal? Is that how they do it where you're from?”

“Nah... nah... I'm just... talkin' bout how I feel. I dunno. I uh, I wanna be with ya, Hanzo.” He combs his fingers through his loose hair, no ponytail today. “I ain't never felt as happy as I do when I'm with you. I don't care if I'm young and stupid, I know I love you.” He kisses the top of his head, where the raven hairs all swirl in the middle. “Maybe we don't gotta get married, but, I wanna be together.”

He abruptly sits up, displacing Hanzo and knocking him off as he does so. It's like a light-bulb has popped up over his head and he's had the most brilliant idea. “Let's run away together.”

Hanzo raises a brow, pushing up on his elbows to sit up as well. “What?”

“We'll run away. From all this. We'll be together, we won't need nobody else.”

“Jesse... we have responsibilities.”

“I don't care about any of that. Fuck responsibilities. I know ya don't wanna be trapped here forever.” His calloused finger draws a line below Hanzo's square jaw, “Come away with me.”

His gaze downturns, his lips tighten and purse. The feeling of Jesse's hand against his face is so comforting. His own hand reaches up to hold it, keeping it pressed there. “It would be cowardly to do so... I would be dishonored.”

Jesse's head arches forward, resting against Hanzo's. Their noses brush and Hanzo can feel his staggered, nervous breathing. He's excited and afraid. “Who cares. Who does that matter to? It don't matter none to me. There's no shame in living yer life the way ya wanna live it.” He kisses the corners of Hanzo's tentative lips.

“Jesse, we'd be hunted down. You'd be a deserter. My family would come after me.”

“Then let'em. We got each other. That's all that matters.”

Hanzo hasn't noticed his free hand tightly clutching the hem of Jesse's shirt. He doesn't want to let go. He can't let go. “I don't know if I can say yes.”

“Well, you ain't said no.”

He has a point. As much as his mind is screaming at him about what a bad idea it is, he can't bring himself to reject it. It's an opportunity to be free. It's the chance at freedom that he's always wanted. And he won't be alone. He'll have Jesse. They'll have each other to lean on. If they go down, they go down together. He's always sought a thrill, and what bigger thrill is there?”

“I... haven't said no,” he repeats the words to himself.

His lashes flutter up, his eyes meeting with the close gaze of the boy, no, man, in front of him. The man he cares about, the man he loves is right there. With his own words he could make it so he'd be with this man forever, or as long as forever is for them. Forever could last a day, a minute, a second- but as long as he's with Jesse, it doesn't matter. They could be killed any time if they run away. But it really doesn't bother him. Any moment with him is as good as forever.

“Okay. Let's do it.”

“Hanzo... ya mean it?”

“Yes. I am tired of being caged. I never asked to be in this position, and yet I've given no choice. I want to make a choice of my own.”

“Darlin'...”

“You are my choice Jesse,” he whispers, reaching his hands around the back of his cowboy. His fingers tangle in his messy brown hair. “No one can take that from me.” He closes his eyes, they're burning. He doesn't know why. He feels them sting, leaving a warm trail down his face. Tears. When was the last time he cried? As a child probably, at his mother's funeral. Those were sad tears then. These tears, they're happy. It's something only Jesse has given him. They're his.

Jesse laughs, reserved at first. He's in disbelief. It's really happening. “Hanzo-” he says, kissing his lips, “Hanzo-” He kisses the tip of his nose and then his cheeks, left and right, and then his forehead, “Hanzo... God, I love you.” His laughter grows stronger, bellowing deep from his gut. He could squeeze Hanzo until his head pops off. He's so happy and so in love, all he can do is laugh.

He tackles him to the ground, nearly sending them both tumbling down the hill. He plants sloppy wet kisses all over his lover's face. His stubble is scratchy and his chapped lips aren't the softest, but to Hanzo it's Heaven.

–-

They lay atop that little green hill for hours. They watch the clouds billowing by sluggishly, spiraling and making shapes in the sky. A cool breeze rustles through the branches above them, spreading pink petal over the grass. For that small bit of time they are content, at peace. Surely people have gone looking for them by now. And they are both sure to receive a scolding. For not that have each other.

Jesse twists Hanzo's dark hair around his fingers, while the latter occupies himself with tracing his fingertips over the wrinkles and folds in Jesse shirt.

“Y'know darlin',” Jesse speaks up, lolling his head to the side, “you should probably do somethin' about hidin' that neck of yers.” He gingerly pokes the lavender welts marking up the length of Hanzo's pale neck. “As much as I love it, ya might have some problems explaining...”

“Hmph, it's your fault.”

“I take full responsibility, don't worry about that,” Jesse chuckles. He curls a finger below Hanzo's chin, “Maybe one day I'll be able to get ya a prettier necklace than hickies.”

How he comes up with these lines, Hanzo will never know. Was charm bred into Americans from the Southwest? Maybe they pump something into the water that gives them such a knack for one-liners and sickeningly sweet charisma.

Hanzo playfully pushes Jesse away and sits up. “So, I'm thinking, the best time for us to leave would be during the festival.”

“Oh yeah?”

“By the last night, everyone will be too drunk and distracted to notice us sneak out. That's when we do the final ceremonies. There's a procession to the shrine and then there's a big fireworks display. We'll back a bag beforehand and leave then. It's out best chance. We'll meet up at the front gate.”

“Well,” Jesse shrugs, sounding much like a man twice his age as he groans while straightening himself up, “I reckon ya know better than me. Sounds fine. But, uh... before that...” He really doesn't want to bring up his encounter with Reyes. It'll totally ruin the mood, but it's something that needs to be said. It's better that Hanzo knows. He takes off his hat, scratching the back of his head before replacing it. “We won't be able to see each other much... if at all. Reyes, he uh... he caught me on my way back this mornin'. He knows.”

Hanzo's heart pings with a shot of panic. He feels his breath stop. “You don't think he'll tell my father, do you?”

“I don't know... He's not a snitch. But, uh, he wasn't too happy about it, I'll tell ya that.” Just the through of having to face the commander again fills him with dread. Is he going to have to fake an attitude adjustment? Is he going to have to pretend that suddenly he's fine with the idea of never seeing Hanzo again? Reyes probably expects him to be over it all. That guy knows him too well. He can see right through him. He'll know that something is up. He is still peeved about what the asshole said, but the thought of running away with Hanzo overshadows it.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his ever loyal pack of smokes. It feels a bit wrong, filling his lungs with tobacco and tar while around him is nothing but fresh air, but they help him relax. Maybe one day he won't need them.

“A few days without you means nothing if it promises us a lifetime,” Hanzo mumbles, hiding his face away in the crook of Jesse's neck. He'd do whatever it takes. He'd suffer through a few days of loneliness if it meant a lifetime of happiness and freedom ahead of him.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Arriving back at the estate they are awaited by a sight that neither wants to see. Hanzo's heart stops. His gut churns and he feels like he might be sick. He doesn't know what he expected. It's not like it's a surprise to see his father's disappointed face waiting for them. He's surrounded by his closest personal team, which is never a good sign. To make things even better, Reyes is with them as well. It would be obvious to tell that he'd gone somewhere, they'd been out for a few hours, but how did they know to wait? Every possibility runs through his head. But it seems the answer is a simplest one: Occum's razor.

Jesse steps out in front, shielding Hanzo behind his broad shoulders. His fists tremble at his sides, knuckles turning white. “Reyes?” he questions- demands- warily. “What the fuck.”

“McCree, this little game is over. It ends now.” He doesn't raise his voice, which seems to only piss off Jesse more. He remains completely collected while his young recruit falls apart in front of him.

“Reyes. What the fuck. _What the fuck_ ,” he warbles.

He sighs, looking down to his feet before back up at Jesse. He's sympathetic if anything, “I'm sorry McCree. I had to.”

“Hanzo. Is what Commander Reyes tells me true?” The man takes a single step forward, holding his head regally high. His nose turns up. Just the prospect of his son's actions have disgusted him.

It's like something from a nightmare. Only an hour earlier he'd been the happiest he'd ever been. He advances forward, slipping past Jesse. His head hangs as low as his father's is high. “Father, it is my fault. Please, if there is any blame, let it be on me. I have forced this upon him, Jesse is-”

“I did not ask for your input Hanzo. I only asked if it is true.”

His jaw tenses up and his head hangs even lower, his hair falls over his shoulder and his bangs shadow his entire face. Wavering, his voice is barely above a whisper, “It is.”

“I see.” Sojiro clears his throat and straightens himself. With one sweeping movement, he grabs Hanzo's chin, wrenching his face upwards so he can see it. He roughly cranes the boy's neck, stretching it out to full view. Even Reyes manages to catch a glimpse of the marks on his skin.

It's embarrassing to have everything look at him like some sort of spectacle.

“It seems I have misjudged you. I thought you were ready. I thought you had grown up. It appears I was mistaken.”

It is unwise to talk back. He's never talked back to his father before. But is his disobedience unwarranted? “Father...” he starts, fighting against his grip, “Were you not once in the same situation? You and Mother...”

His nostrils flare, “You talk back to me? I see now this-this... this _scum_ has tainted you. He is a nothing, Hanzo. I cannot believe that you have lowered yourself to this.” His composure cracks. He throws Hanzo away from him, unable to look at him any longer. He rubs his temple and sighs, “Your mother was not dirty. Your mother was not a hired thug. You have dishonored yourself Hanzo. You're no better than a common whore.”

“Hey, fuck you man!” Reyes's hand flies to cover Jesse's barking mouth. The boy squirms, nearly biting his commander's hand to free himself. “Fuck. You. You may be his father, but ya know nothin' about Hanzo! He don't want this! He don't want this life yer forcin' him to live!”

Reyes screams at him in their tongue, shushing him and doing his best to restrain him. Jesse continually worms his way out and keeps on with his tirade, “You can call me whatever the hell ya want, but don't ya ever say that Hanzo is dishonorable.” He spits on the ground at Sojiro's feet, “Fuck you, and fuck yer _honor_.”

Hooking his arm around Jesse's neck, Reyes is finally able to contain him in a choke hold, buckling his knees and bringing him to the ground. Applying a light amount of pressure, he's at least able to incapacitate the rebellious teen for the moment.

Sojiro looks only with his eyes to Reyes, head still held high, not wasting any effort to look down at him, “Commander Reyes, I hold no grudge over you and your team, but I do hope you learn to muzzle your-” His lips curl, sneering sourly, “-dog.”

Nodding with an affirming grunt he says, “I understand sir.” His tight hold on Jesse remains. “I will sort him out, you have my apologies, again.”

He snuffs, spinning around and heading off. His men surround Hanzo in an instant, whisking him away alongside. He's never been more caged than this very moment; his talons are tethered and his wings are clipped.

-–

Final preparations for the festival get along without a fuss. Before much time at all, the castle ground are transformed into a lively, bright display. Red and gold lanterns hand from the beams and awnings. Vendors begin setting up their stalls, wheeling in supplies and food through the front gate. Servants scurry around to put the finishing touches on decorations, as well as help the family with whatever they may need.

Shimada friends and family have gathered in the town: distant relatives and cousins. They aren't a large family in numbers, but with the power they possess, they don't need to be.

Everyone in Blackwatch, meanwhile, is on high alert. It's finally their time to shine. Not only do they need to protect the Shimadas, but the guests as well. They are expecting upwards of hundreds to walk through those gates. Distractions of booze, food, and games won't make things any easier.

They've already been on duty, keeping watch every hour of the day. With so many strangers passing in and out, vigilance is key.

–-

Reyes keeps Jesse on a short leash after his display a few days prior. He's not allowed anywhere near the main house, and is left to do the early morning watch- kept under the close eye of Nat. He can't get into too much trouble from 2am-8am. Between those times the grounds are silent, the air is chilly and it puts Jesse in a horribly cranky mood.

“It's so fucking unfair...” he mumbles under his breath, swinging his feet over the ledge of the awning he sits upon.

“What are you blabbering on about now, McCree?” Nat sighs, rolling her eyes and hitching her large rifle over her shoulder.

Jesse taps some ash onto the stones far below him, lifting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply. “I don't get it, y'know. I'm forced to be here, in Blackwatch. Reyes is basically my fucking parole officer. I ain't got a choice, I get that. I did fucked up shit and this is my punishment.”

She squints at him, “What...? What are you talking about?”

“I had a choice once, but now I don't. I did that to myself. Hanzo, he ain't done nothin'.”

Nat groans, having heard that name far too often lately. “Ugh, will you shut up about that? You go on and on about this guy. I don't fucking care, McCree.”

He ignores her, not really talking to her anyway. His ramblings are mostly for himself. “Hanzo never had a choice for anything. How come? Seems like Genji has a few options, his fate ain't set in stone. How come Hanzo's gotta be the one takin' on all the responsibility if he doesn't want to?”

“I don't know.” She throws her hands up, defeated. He's just gonna continue on wagging his tongue, she might as well just listen. It's not like there's anything better to do. “The culture is different here. Maybe that's gotta do with it.”

“But culture shifts and changes. They're livin' in the Stone Age here. I see the old samurai movies. This is the shit that was goin' on in those. Hell, he got fuckin' Omnics and shit runnin' around now, and yet tellin' me one guy can't choose what he wants to do with his own life?” He puffs a trail of smoke into the cool air. “It's wrong.”

“You're just mad because you can't fuck around with your little boy-toy anymore.”

“It's not that, Nat.” He frowns, throwing her a glare. “Even if Hanzo hated my guts, I still wouldn't think it'd be right for him to be cooped up here. I've made choices my entire life, stupid choices, but at least I had the freedom to do so. Hanzo.. he, he don't have nothin'. The most freedom he's got is to choose what clothes to put on in the mornin'! And you've seen how he dresses! Genji gets away with green hair and the most Hanzo gets is to choose which fuckin' robe to wear?”

“I dunno what to tell you, buddy. Life is unfair. That's just how it is. You think I like being sent out on missions like this? You think I like working with shitty little brats like you?” She leans a shoulder against the wall, dropping her gun down to prop it at her side. “You just gotta deal with it. There isn't anything you can do. Might as well just face the facts.” She motions her hand up to him, “Pass me a smoke, I'm out.”

He exhales another cloud of smoke and tosses her down the entire carton. It's not like he doesn't have more, he made sure to stock up while he could. It was common knowledge in Blackwatch: if you were out of smokes, good ol' Jesse McCree was sure to have some. That's really the only thing most other members think he's good for.

“Ain't there anything ya wish you could do, Nat?” He reclines back, hands resting behind his head and eyes looking at the clear starry sky. You couldn't get stars like that in the city.

She laughs, flicking on her lighter and lighting up a cigarette. “Yeah, pummel your fucking face in.”

“Yer no help.”

“Not trying to be, cowboy. We've got a job to do.”

“You ever been in love?”

She huffs, violently kicking the beam supporting the awning, giving it a good shake. “Will you stop? God, why does Reyes keep you around?”

Jesse rolls over onto his stomach and pulls himself over to the ledge to look at Nat below, “Cause he likes me better.”

“McCree I will come up there and kick your ass. Don't make me.”

–-

The twilight hours pass with no problems or hiccups. Jesse and Nat finish their watch in relative silence after some threatening on her part. Eight o'clock approaches.

“Hey, McCree, wait here for the relief, I'm gonna go report to Reyes,” Nat says. She flicks him upside the nose, “And don't you fucking try anything. I'll be waiting for you back at the guest house. You better be there.” She hoists her gun up, resting it behind her head and across her shoulders. Her arms lazily rest over it. She stretches and cracks her back as she walks off back in the direction of their lodgings. He sees her yawn in the distance.

Whelp, nothing he can do but wait. He knows that the Shimada's guard are watching him. He can't see them, but he can feel their eyes on him. They're somewhere. He's likely to lose some sort of appendage if he tries anything funny. There's a few he can do without, but he can imagine the one they'd go for.

He rests his back against the wall quietly awaiting his relief to show up. They can't come soon enough, he's exhausted. Waking up for 2am watch is a killer. He just wants to get back and get a few ours of shut-eye. They'll certainly be busy tonight as the festival begins. Time to earn that paycheck.

He had just about shut his eyes when the tiny tapping of footsteps springs him into action. His hands move immediately to the holsters on his hips. But, the footsteps are not from a threat, so he sees. Instead, a servant girl, probably no older than him approaches. Clutched to her chest is a folded piece of parchment.

In shaky, broken English she calls to him, “Jesse-san, yes?”

He nods.

She holds out the paper, bowing her head as she does so. He'd seen this on TV before. Was she giving him a love letter? Well, he didn't think he'd made that big of an impression on the local ladies.

“Oh, sweetheart, hold up now. I'm flattered but-”

“Not from me. From Master Hanzo.”

He snatches the letter from her hand with a bit too much urgency. Unfolding the fancy stationary he scans over it.

 

_Jesse,_

_I will go through with our plan if you will._

_Please_

_~H_

 

Short, sweet, and to the point. His heart leaps. Suddenly he doesn't even feel tired anymore. He has to reply. Pen. He needs a pen. He pats himself down. Shit. Why does he never have a pen? Cigarettes, yes. Booze, yes. Pen? Not a chance.

“Uh, sweetheart, do ya happen to have a-”

Wordlessly she shoves a pen towards him.

“Ah, thank ya kindly.” He flips the paper over and clicks the pen. He lifts a knee up, trying to provide himself a surface to write on. This proves to be too difficult, as keeping his balance while he's so excited is nearly impossible. He turns to use the wall instead. He scratches down only a few words, his hands are too shaky to write anything else legibly.

 

_My bag's already packed._

_See you soon darling._

 

He ends it by scribbling a little heart at the bottom.

“Can ya take this back to him? Be real secretive about it though, this is sensitive stuff.”

He folds up the paper again and places it into her outstretched hands. She bows deeply and tucks the letter inside her robe.

The timing couldn't be better. The second she runs off his relief finally shows up.

–-

Hanzo sits alone in the dining room. It's too early, but he can't sleep. He stares down into his barely touched tea. It's growing cold. He should pour himself a new cup, but he can't find the motivation to do so. It's been hard to do much of anything the past few days. He's skipped out on practice and bailed on his tutor. He's already earned enough scorn from his father, he doesn't care.

Sighing, he pushes the cup away and stretches his arms across the table to lounge there. The tabletop is cool against his cheek. At least his father won't lecture him during the festival. He's too busy meeting with the family. He's probably telling them about what a disgrace his son is. Maybe he'll decide to name Genji his heir instead. It's a far fetched thought, but he can't help but wonder.

He doesn't want to rule over the clan, so why is he so upset over his father's words? He called him dishonorable. It hurts. He's worked his entire life to be everything his father could want. Why does one mistake make him such a shame.

For doing something that makes him happy, for being with someone he loves, that makes him dishonorable. He's so damn hypocritical. He refuses to acknowledge the parallels with his youth, sneaking off to be with a woman his family deemed unfit. But they grew to lover her. So why couldn't be grow to love Jesse? Hanzo doesn't even ask for his father to love Jesse, but just to accept him. That's all he wants.

Why can't he do both? Why can't he lead the clan and be with Jesse? He'd pay any amount of money to steal him away from Blackwatch. With the income from the clan, he can easily support the both of them. They can live in luxury, ruling this criminal empire together.

So why?

He doesn't understand.

The light flips on. Hanzo blinks, the brightness hurts his eyes.

“Sitting in the dark again, brother?”

“Go away Genji.”

With complete disregard for Hanzo's order, he sits down across the table from him, eyeing the room-temperature cup of tea. He pokes the top of his brother's head, “What's wrong?”

Hanzo turns his head to he can face Genji and give him one of his signature 'Leave me alone' looks. “You know full well what is wrong,” he frowns.

“You got caught. So what? I've been caught a million times. You don't see me moping around and wasting tea.”

“This is different.”

“How so?”

He grumbles, pushing himself up to sit like a normal human being. “I love Jesse. I want to be with him. And for this, Father calls me dishonorable. He...” His voice breaks and any bit of composure he has falls to the wayside. He purses his trembling lips and fights back the tears in his eyes. His hands ball into fists. “He calls me a whore. He calls Jesse scum. A dog.”

“Woah, woah, Hanzo...” Genji gets up and crawls around the table to sit next to his brother, wrapping an arm around him for comfort. “I've never seen you so worked up...” He tenderly massages his thumb in little circles on Hanzo's shoulder.

He clasps his hand over his face, trying to suppress his whimpers and cries. Tears spill over his fingers and drop into his lap like rain. “Maybe he's right,” he sobs, “Maybe I am just as worthless as he thinks. Maybe this was wrong the entire time. Maybe I am just a fool.”

“Hanzo... no...” Genji holds his brother even tighter, gently shushing. “You aren't foolish. Hey, listen to me, okay? You've worked so hard. One mistake isn't going to change all of that.”

“Am I wrong? Was it wrong of me to pursue him?”

Shaking his head, Genji does his best to lift Hanzo's chin. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state is something he would never wish for. “Of course not. Hanzo, I've never seen you so happy. You are a changed man. The Hanzo I knew would never cry, but he would never smile either. This is a good thing. This makes you human.”

“I'm sorry, Genji. I must sound like a spoiled child. I've had Father's affection all these years and the second I lose it I break down.” He sniffs and rubs his weary eyes. It feels refreshing to have a good cry once in awhile. “I'm just so lost. I don't know how to feel.”

“Hah, Father's words do not bother me.” He pats Hanzo's back. “It's because I've heard them for so many years that they no longer sting. It is like building a callous. It's just a callous on your heart.”

His brows furrow, this does not sound like a good thing. Genji makes so light of it.

“Listen, I've been a disgrace to Father since I was born. Has he thrown me out? I'm still his son, his little 'Sparrow'. You're his son as well. He'll get over it. No one is holding a gun to your head, Hanzo. If you really don't want to, tell him you refuse. What is he going to do? He's not going to kill you or anything. He's just a man. He's not a god.” With a few more reassuring pats, Genji gets up to his feet. He takes the tea cup from the table, “I'll get you a fresh cup.”

Hanzo lowers his head. “Thank you, Genji. For everything.” An almost invisible smile graces his lips, “I know what I am going to do.” He just has to find his stationary.

–-

Crowds come pouring through the front gate as the sun sets in the orange and purple sky. Children laugh and run about, sporting masks of animals or cartoon characters. The entire estate is filled with the rumbling sound of conversation. Smells, sweet and savory, waft from the food stalls, drawing in customers with the enticing scent. Teenagers mingle, the girls are dressed in fancy yukata that they wait all year to wear. They blush and hide their faces behind decorative fans, playfully bashful around their dates. The boys treat them to dango or sweet crepes. Some boys treat other boys to sweets as well, just as the yukata clad girls hold hands with one another. There is no discrimination here. It is a festival to celebrate.

As the sun goes down behind the mountains, the colorful lanterns are lit, earning gasps of awe from the guests. Is it about this time that Genji meets up with his friends, taking time to enjoy the festivities with them. It's one of the few times he's allowed to do so without sneaking out.

Hanzo emerges from home. Dark circles hand under his eyes and he's done his best to tie back his frizzed hair. He's really in no state to go out into public. But, alas, it is his duty. He must speak with the quests and gain their good favor. His mood is poor, the only thing keeping him going is the little voice in the back of his head telling him, “You're almost out. You're almost done.”

He'd received his note back from Jesse. He still wants to go through with the plan. All he has to do is get through these first nights, and then, on the last day they will be free. Free at long last.

So, for now, it's sucking up to the townsfolk, and then later, the rest of the family. He'll have to really prove himself to them. They are always so highly critical.

He makes his way into the commotion. A few notice him and bow their heads, greeting him and wishing him well. He speaks to them for a bit, thanking them for coming and asking them how their evenings are going. Small talk. Maybe he can just channel his inner-Jesse, then he'll surely woo the crowd. The thought brings him a smile, but there's no way he can manage that accent.

He wanders around, trying to find his father. He's expected to be by his side. They haven't spoken much the past few days, but he made sure to pass at least that much on. They're both stubborn. Hanzo takes after his father more than he cares to admit. He honestly doesn't want to be anywhere near the man. He has to fake it for awhile though. The promise of freedom with Jesse spurs him on.

Seeing a long line snaking out from the shrine is a good indicator of where his father is to be found. He follows the queue upwards and finds him seated in the sanctum. There's a large framed photograph of his mother there. All laid out around it are flowers, fruits, candles, and incense. He gives a curt nod to each guests who pays their respects, thanking them and moving on to the next.

Hanzo feels his body want to turn around and walk the other direction, but he knows he can't. Inwardly dreading it, he grits his teeth and approaches his father, kneeling down beside him. He's stiff as a board and he takes notice right away.

“Hanzo, relax a bit. You'll make the guests uncomfortable.” He bows and greets another. “It is obvious you are still upset with me.”

Clenching his jaw, he has to force back any sort of profanities he'd very much like to express. “I do not wish to discuss it,” he says shortly. He turns his eyes forward, doing his best to ignore any other comments.

“We will not discuss it here, but we _will_ discuss it. I wish to clear the air between us.”

“Yes Father...” His nose wrinkles up as his lips thin. It's harder than he thinks to keep a pleasant expression. Talking to Genji about it is one thing, but talking to his father is different. He's the one who said those hurtful words. He's not one to take back what he says. When he speaks he means every word.

–-

And the time comes too soon.

Once all the guests are greeted and happily going along their way, Hanzo is pulled aside.

“Come. Walk with me Hanzo.”

He follows silently.

They stop to speak along the fencing out looking the mountain. Hanzo wants to scream. It's the spot where he and Jesse had their first real meeting. There's still some snubbed cigarettes on the ground. It's secretive though, out of earshot from anyone who would care to listen.

“What exactly happened between you and that boy?” he asks, still holding mild distaste on his tongue. “Commander Reyes told me his side of the story, but I would like to know yours. It is unfair to judge without your rebuttal. So?”

“What did Reyes tell you?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “He says that he saw the boy walking back from out home in the early morning. They fought and he ran off. Then, you are nowhere to be found. The pieces line up too easily, Hanzo. He told me other things as well, that I do not wish to go into detail over.”

Looking down at his feet, Hanzo kicks a few pebbles around and fidgets. “Will you listen if I tell you the whole story?” If it has to be any way, he'd rather his father get the whole truth, not just whatever Reyes put together.

“I suppose I have to. Fine. Tell me.” He still seems turned off by the idea of his son and the American foreigner.

He hesitates to start. Again, he could talk to Genji about it, but telling a parent about your wild whirlwind romance is awkward. “It wasn't just the one time, well... it was... But, I'm saying-” He groans, cursing himself for his poor wording. “I was... interested in him when we first me. He complimented me and it caught me off guard. It was stupid. I am aware. I snuck out of our negotiations so I could find him. I wanted to get to know him. And... after that we met up every night.”

He pauses, looking up and waiting for some sort of response from his father. The man says nothing. He simply motions with his hand for Hanzo to continue.

“We talked mostly. I just enjoyed being around him He's a good person. He's not a thug like you say. He's smart and kind. He had the gentlest eyes I've ever seen. There is a good in him that one doesn't come across often.” His heart flutters just talking about him. Every word he speaks just makes him long for the scraggly-haired cowboy even more. “I fell in love with him. Is that such a sin?”

“You believe he isn't lying to you? Hanzo... that type. They'll woo you, sweep you off your feet, and then once they've had you, they simply disappear. Is that not the case?”

“It is different, Father. I don't know what it was like between you and Mother, but...”

“Hanzo please, do not compare him to your Mother.”

Just when he thinks his father might be coming around, he dashes it entirely. Hanzo's face drops. “Why not? I love him. You loved her. The family didn't accept her, just as you aren't accepting him.”

The man exhales deeply and tries to explain, “He cannot be part of this family, no matter how much you want him to be. It is unheard of. I do not care that he is a man, but the family _will_. How are you supposed to have an heir? How will the bloodline continue? I should not have lashed out at you, but please understand where I am coming from. I do not wish for you to waste your time with a low-class thug. It will taint your mind.”

His fists tighten. There he goes again. He's not sorry. “What if I do not wish to have an heir?” he snaps.

“Then the family will die. The dragons will die. Everything that we have worked so hard for all these years will be for nothing.”

“Then let it! Empires end! New ones come to be!”

He's taken aback. “Do not speak in such a way. I have worked day and night to provide you with the best life possible. Do you not appreciate it? Just as my father worked for me, I have worked for you. I have toiled for so many years.”

“But I do not want that life. I do not want this life.” He's arguing out of desperation now. His father makes valid points. He is being entirely selfish. His father did not ask to work so hard, and yet he did.

Hanzo is met with a jarring slap across his face. “What has gotten into you? Why do you disrespect me like this?”

“I do not want this life, Father. I've seen that there is more to this world than being trapped behind these doors. I want a _choice_.” He stresses this, putting all his energy behind his words. He's tired of this back and forth. Whether it be from the slap or the emotions bubbling to the brink of his mind, his eyes go misty.

“I was given no choice. It cannot be helped. It is your honor and duty. This boy is putting ideas into your head. We are safe here, Hanzo. Do you know what is happening out in the world? The world is at war. You'll die out there!” The man's voice raises.

“But at least I will have the freedom to do so!” He's shouting. He can't take any more. His father will never learn. He'll never get it through his head. He still blames Jesse. He thinks Jesse poisoned his mind. Nothing will change him. He's done with it. He roughly pushes past his father and storms off. He's going home. He needs to start packing. If anything, this has lit a fire beneath him. If he didn't want to leave before, he sure does now.

He wants nothing more than Jesse at this moment. He wants to be held in his strong arms. He wants to listen to his pittering heartbeat. He wants to smell the tobacco on his breath. He wants to see those eyes that are liken to sweet pools of honey. He wants to drink in every part of him. Since he's met him, he's the only thing that brings Hanzo joy. He didn't know the emptiness he held in his heart until Jesse came along and filled it. He opened his mind to new ideas. He opened his eyes to new possibilities.

“Hanzo, please. Stop. Wait.”

So he does. What more could he have to say?

His father takes a few steps toward him. “Do you really love him?” His eyes almost seem sad. “Be honest with me, Hanzo.”

“I do. More than anything.”

The man looks up to the sky. The sun is just about gone from sight, its last golden rays vanish behind the peaks. Little dots and clusters of stars poke through the fleeting daylight. There's only a small window of time when it is both day and night. Only twice a day.

His shoulders fall as he lets out a long drawn out breath. “As my heir, I cannot accept it. I'm sorry. It can never happen and I really suggest you take your mind off of it. But, as my son... I understand.” He stops, breathing unevenly. Hanzo has never seen him so... broken. “You are my son, Hanzo, and I love you but... I'm sorry.”

Hanzo says nothing in return. There is it. That's the final verdict. He really can't change his mind. He turns his back once again and doesn't stop. There's no more time for stopping. He has to leave.

–-

Unfortunately for him, returning home means having to pass through the crowds once more. There's only one face he wants to see, and none of these strangers are him.

Until one is.

He almost walks past him with a simple “Excuse me.” He's looking at the ground, trying to avoid anyone that might want to strike up a conversation. If not for those one of a kind leather boots, he would have brushed right by.

“Hey darlin'...”

Hanzo's face whips up and he nearly breaks down right there. His lip quivers. Being apart from him proved to not be as easy as he had initially thought. “Jesse, we can't-”

“I know, I know. I didn't even plan on bumpin' into ya, but it was my turn to make the rounds and I saw ya... and I couldn't help myself.” He scans the area, making sure the coast is clear before he pulls Hanzo aside. “Reyes is sleepin', he's doin' early morning watch with me tomorrow.”

“Shouldn't you be sleeping as well? Jesse, you should be rested.”

“I couldn't just let ya walk home all by yer lonesome. You just about ran over a group of teenagers with yer sulkin'. I know darlin', trust me, I'm feelin' it too. I get it.”

Hanzo sighs, finally letting himself relax. His head falls limply forward to rest against Jesse's chest. “I hate this.”

He chuckles softly, “I know, me too. But I'll get ya outta here, okay? Two more days, that's all ya gotta wait, and I promise you'll be outta here.” He pries the droopy Hanzo off him, standing him up straight. “Ya hear me? I promise I'll take ya away from all this.”

“Thank you Jesse.” He smiles weakly. It's hard to be optimistic after hearing that your father will never accept the person you love, but he's trying to stay positive.

“Now, you need an escort home right? Yer daddy can't complain about that. I'm just doin' my job, right? And I mean, it's just extra protection if I hold yer hand. I'm all about takin' extra precautions.” He winks slyly and lights up when he hears the tiniest of laughs from Hanzo. “There ya go! Let's forget all the doom and gloom, okay? Just for now?” He extends his hand.

Hanzo forgoes the hand and instead latches onto Jesse's arm. He rests his head upon his shoulder. It feels so good. “Take me home, cowboy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo is such a drama queen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's one big heaping helping of angst for you guys

“You're leaving...”

Genji stands in his doorway looking uneasy.

Hanzo hastily closes his bag and pushes it out of sight. It's too late though, Genji has seen enough to know what's going on. He's not stupid, but the whole issue could have been avoided if he had just knocked.

“Genji. I-”

“You're actually leaving,” he remarks. He stares through Hanzo, eyes unfocused as the realities hit him,”You're... where are you going?”

Hanzo stands up, brushing off his knees. He ushers his brother into the room, sitting him down on the desk chair, while he takes to leaning his back against the wall. “I didn't want you to find out. I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

It's not like he purposefully hid it from Genji. It just didn't seem right to tell him; he'd have found out anyway. It's selfish on Hanzo's part, really. He's been so focused on himself, he'd barely given a thought to what kind of position it would leave Genji in. It is unlikely that their father would name him the new heir. He's had no training and his personality just doesn't fit the image of a stoic leader. It's the man's own fault for spoiling him.

“When I said that you could just refuse Father... I didn't think you'd actually go through with it and leave.” He runs his fingers through his hair and breathes deeply before doubling over, his head between his knees and eyes on the ground. He sniffles, “H-Hanzo, you're actually going to leave me here.”

“No, no, Genji-” Hanzo rushes to him, kneeling down before him, placing a hand on his thigh, “Genji, please. _Please_. Don't be upset with me. I'm sorry.”

He sniffs a few more times before looking up. He's not crying, but looks about ready to. His eyes glint with a wet sheen. “I'm not upset. I'm just surprised. Sorry.” He rubs his eyes and blinks, dampening his lashes. He lets out a breath to calm himself down before he cracks. “It's a good thing. I'm happy for you.”

He's lying through his teeth. Hanzo can tell. “You don't have to be happy for me. I'm turning my back on the clan. I'm doing the most dishonorable thing imaginable. I'm leaving you behind, I'm leaving Father behind. I'm leaving Hanamura behind.” Once he leaves, he'll never be accepted back, at least not as an heir. If he ends up getting caught and hauled back to Hanamura, he'll be punished severely, likely confined and jailed, if not executed.

He scoops up Genji's hands into his own, “I just can't take this anymore. I'd rather die than have to live another day imprisoned here.” Reassuringly, he squeezes Genji's hands. “You will be fine. You don't realize it, but Father loves you. He won't force you into my position. He is only so hard on me because I'm the first-born. Plus,” Hanzo smirks, “I think he knows better than to leave the clan in your hands. After a week the castle would be up in flames and the guards would all be walking around with green hair.”

“Don't forget the cool clothes. All of them would need an entirely new wardrobe,” Genji adds, perking up.

Hanzo smiles, “Exactly.” He sighs, pulling his brother into a hug. It's something he doesn't do enough. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too, brother. Don't let that cowboy get you into too much trouble.”

Hanzo shakes his head as he stands back up, of course Genji would put two and two together. “I cannot promise anything.” He returns to his packing, resituating himself on the floor with his piles of clothes and essentials.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight. During the fireworks.”

“Good a time as any. Father will probably have downed a bottle of sake by then.” Genji spins in the chair, turning to face the desk. The picture frame propped up in the corner catches his eye: their mother, as he's been told. He picks it up and examines the woman in it. “You know,” he turns back and holds it out to Hanzo, “you look a lot like her. I mean, you got Father's nose, but you've got the same eyes.”

Hanzo takes the frame and studies it himself. He's not wrong. If only he'd inherited her gentle demeanor as well. He pushes it back to Genji, “You keep it.” He continues laying out items in his bag, “You take after her more than I do. People like you.”

“I guess that's true.” He retracts his arm, setting the frame down in his lap.

“You're so modest.”

“Yeah, it's why people like me.”

He'll definitely miss sharing a laugh like this with his brother. They tend to butt heads more than they actually get along, but these moments are precious to him. Even though he complains about Genji's crude humor and laid-back attitude, it's refreshing after a long day of business talk.

He hopes that Genji can get out of Hanamura someday too. He doesn't belong here. Everything about him is wasted in such a place. He's a progressive boy who wants to move forward, not be stuck in the past. He cares nothing of rituals or tradition, and honestly, that's good. Society would never have moved forward if not for people like him. He could really make something incredible of himself if he puts his mind to it.

Hanzo closes up the bag and sets it near the bedroom door. He'll have to be quick. There's only about a fifteen minute window he has to work with. He has to make it all the way to the house and back to the front gate, and then leave with Jesse and get as far away as possible in that little amount of time.

“Take care of yourself Hanzo.” Genji pats him on the back, “I mean it. Okay?”

“Same to you.” Smiling softly, he wraps his arm around his brother's shoulder and pulls him in for one last embrace. “Go have fun. Enjoy the rest of the festival.” He gently nudges him out the door, “Go now. Go on.”

–-

No one hears the first gunshot go off. Fireworks burst and sparkle in the sky, masking the sound with their own bursts. It's only when one guard in the front drops dead and cold to the ground with a bullet through his skull that anyone takes notice.

Blackwatch is quick to action. Shouting orders left and right is Reyes, rushing to body block Sojiro from any more incoming bullets. Luckily, his men are well trained and target down the sniper perched high up on the roof. But, by the time he's down, dozens more scale the walls and gates, rapidly swarming the Shimada castle. They were prepared for an attack, but not one of such scale. If Reyes had known that they'd be fending off a small army, he'd have asked for more money.

“Nat!” he shouts, guiding Sojiro to a safer position, even through his protesting. “Take your team and hold the gate! Don't let any more of them in!” He keeps his head low and keeps a hand over Sojiro's as they crouch and creep behind the high walls and barriers

She affirms, “You got it boss!” Gesturing with a grand arm movement, she waves her team forward, “Let's go! You heard the man! Keep these mother fuckers outta here!”

With a rallying 'hoo-rah' they all charge forward, knocking out anyone in their path.

“McCree!” Reyes then calls. His eyes dart around, he could have sworn the kid was right next to him. “McCree?” Where the fuck is he? He stands up straight and overlooks the panicked guests. Normally a cowboy hat would be pretty easy to spot, but he doesn't see one anywhere. “McCree! McCree! Does anyone know where Jesse is?”

“No sir! Haven't see him since before the fireworks!” One of his men answers.

“ _Fucking Hell_...” he mutters under his breath. “I'm gonna fucking kill him myself.” He draws his shotguns and joins the fray. There's no time to go looking for him. He'd rather be down one man than two. He has an idea where he might be, and if he is, he's going to be getting a serious ass-whooping. Dumbass kid.

–-

His heartbeat resounds in his ears and feels like thunder in his chest. His feet fly over the ground. It's time. It's finally time. He hears the first firework shoot into the sky, but, no. It sounds odd. It's concerning enough to stop him. Just seconds after, he hears screaming. They aren't the joyous screams of awe and wonder, watching the colorful explosions pop off in the sky. These are screams of terror. More bangs and pops follow. Definitely not fireworks. Gunshots.

No.

Not now. Why now? No.

He's so close. He could just run home and grab his bag and then bolt out of there.

But Jesse.

Could Jesse make it out?

And what of Genji and their father? He may be leaving them behind, but he can't leave them to die. This is the attack that they've been anticipating. It has to serious, judging by the sounds of yelling and disarray he hears.

He bounces on the balls of his feet, looking back and forth between his home and the battlefield. He could be losing his chance. Running away is one thing, but turning his back on his clan when they are in danger? He can't do it. He has to find Jesse and make sure his family is safe, only then can he be rid of this place.

He turns away from home, having to physically shake off all the voices telling him to do otherwise. He has no plan in his head. He is unarmed. He's not properly dressed. He's completely unprepared and it's stupid to go running into battle, but alas, here he is.

–-

“McCree, where the fuck have you been!?” Reyes throws an assailant over his shoulder to the ground, cramming his heavy boot across their neck to hold them down while he shoots them point-blank. He kills with no hesitation, he barely even looks at his victim as he takes their life.

Jesse trips over his feet as he come stumbling in, looking positively bewildered. He's immediately greeted by a man with a blade rushing at him. While he's normally quick on the draw, he's taken by surprise. His head isn't exactly in the right place.

Before the blade can reach him, the man in shot down, shotgun pellets spraying across his back.

“Get it together! I need you to get these people out of here” Reyes yanks him forward and then tosses him towards the large throng of guests cowering and ducking in fear. They're all huddled together, as if it will provide them some safety in numbers. Some have run off, only to get themselves shot or struck down. Many managed to escape through the front gate before the fighting started, but these sorry suckers weren't so lucky. “Nat and her team have pushed up past the gate, they're holding for now, but we need these people out. Think you can handle that?”

Jesse stalls. He anxiously scans around, looking for any signs of Hanzo. It's the only reason he came back. He had been laying in wait, waiting for those fireworks to start. The sound of a gunshot stopped his heart. His gut dropped and he knew where he had to be. He doesn't want to escort these people. He doesn't know them. He doesn't care about them. He wants Hanzo. He wants to know he's okay.

“McCree, I need to you to listen to me, _mijo_. Can you handle this?”

His jaw tenses and his brows knit deeply with worry. He keeps looking to Reyes and back to the battle, hoping in vain to catch a glance. “I...uh...” He looks to the people. They all stare up at him, eyes wide and frightened beyond belief. There are children among them, and elderly. It isn't fair for them. They're innocent. They have no need to die because of the trouble the Shimadas had gotten themselves into. “O-okay. Yeah.”

He has to believe in Hanzo. He knows he can take care of himself. Of course, once he gets these people to safety, he's going to come running right back to look for him. He'll be okay for now. He's strong. He's also got some scary magic dragon power. That's probably pretty useful.

Reyes gives him a slap on the back and joins back in the fighting beside the guards and Blackwatch. Some of the other Shimada family have joined up as well. In a way, it's their home too. It's easy to pick them out, it's obvious who they are based on their clothing and the tattoos covering their bodies. It really is like dragons twisting and writhing across the battleground. It's like they're dancing.

So. Escorting the guests it is. “Alrighty, I'm gonna need y'all to follow me, alright? I'm gonna get ya outta here safe and sound.” Some nod hesitantly at him, but look to their neighbors with confusion. That's something he didn't take into account. They don't speak English. Shit. The ones that have picked up aren't doing much to pass the information along. They're all too scared to think clearly.

They're sitting ducks like that. He's a sitting duck. You can't stand still this long when there are people that want you dead. He panics. What is he supposed to do? They're all terrified, half of them probably don't even know if he's friend or foe. He scratches the back of his head.

“Um... um... I uh-”

He's cut off by a somewhat familiar sounding voice, but the words are not ones he knows. A green head pokes out from behind a doorway.

Genji?

A few teenagers file out behind him, sticking close. The crowd turns to him, as if he's some sort of angel sent from Heaven. He speaks to them, motioning and pointing to Jesse as he does so. He looks just as frazzled as the rest of them. From the looks of it, he had been spending time with his friends when everything started to go down. Thankfully he knows the layout, and was able to get them all hidden away from harm.

“Jesse! Let me help you,” he says, ambling towards the cowboy.

“Genji, no, you should be hidin'! These guys are out for ya!”

He insists, “You need someone to translate. These people trust me. Please, let me help.” He stands firm, “I want to get my friends out of here as well. We can only hide in service passages for so long.”

Jesse groans, rubbing the back of his neck. He makes a good point. “Well, uh, you got any weapons on ya?”

“I do not.”

Reaching into his boot, Jesse pulls out a small black pocket-knife, his initials are carved into the handle. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. He tosses it to Genji. He can probably handle a knife better than he can a gun. “Take this, stay low, and follow me.”

Genji explains to the people that they are moving out. They all keep themselves ducked low and move rather smoothly following Jesse's lead. It's dark enough that they can avoid detection if they move carefully enough. Genji's directions also help, leading them through covered corridors and along side paths. Reyes and the other are taking care of the intruders vaulting the walls and trickling in, but Jesse remains cautious with Lawbreaker drawn on his left.

The gate is clear for the time being, but Nat's team is fighting for all they're worth to keep it held. Bodies already line the street. This group is definitely more coordinated than the scouting team that had attempted to attack prior. They spread out in squadrons, formulating precise and efficient attacks. They aren't just here to assassinate one man, they're here to wipe out his entire empire.

Jesse explains the plan to Genji, who then relays the information. They're going to sneak around the back of the ramen shop and escape into the side streets. Once there, they're on their own.

For a group of around fifty, they manage to stay eerily quiet. The only sound they produce is the shuffling of their feet and hushed breaths and whispers. Many avert their gaze from the blood streaming across the pavement and hide their children's eyes.

Once they pass from the immediate danger, Jesse tells Genji, “I want ya to stay with yer friends, alright? Go to one of their houses and stay there until this all blows over.” He guides the nervous townsfolk into the back alley. It's a long procession, but with Genji's helpful support, everyone manages to make it through unscathed.

The boy's friends are the last to pass through, waiting for him to join them. He raises a hand, asking them to wait momentarily. “Jesse, I just wanted to thank you.”

“Aw, y'all don't need to thank me for nothin', I'm just doin' my job.”

“No, not for this. For Hanzo,” Genji smiles, “I've never seen him as happy as you make him. You've given my brother a reason to live, and I'm forever grateful.” He beams with such a childlike innocence and sincerity, it's hard not to smile just looking at him. He still holds onto optimism when everything is falling apart.

“Yer gonna make me blush.” He eases the tension in his shoulders, letting himself relax just a tiny bit. Not one had never been grateful to him before. It feels nice to be the good guy for a change.

“This is probably the last I'll ever see you... so... goodbye, I guess,” Genji shrugs, still crookedly smirking.

“Nah, not goodbye. Just, until next time.”

“Oh, right.” He holds out his hand, pushing the pocket-knife towards Jesse, “I am glad I didn't need to use it.”

Jesse ruffles the hair on his green head, “Keep it. It's a gift. Ya never know.” He glances up at the boy's friends who are growing impatient and antsy. No fault on them, anyone would we wanting to just get home after that situation. “Now go on. Try to stay out of sight.”

With one last affirming nod, he bounds off with the other teens, climbing some steps and disappearing around a corner. Jesse sighs, watching as he vanishes. It probably is the last time he'll see the kid, he won't fool himself by thinking otherwise.

He could really go for a cigarette right about now.

–-

His home is painted red already. The once beautiful and colorful lanterns have fallen and been trampled into the dirt. The stalls have been toppled over and destroyed. Offerings of fruit and flowers intended for his mother are now scattered around, becoming offerings instead to the slew of bodies strewn across the ground.

What is happening?

The world is spinning.

This was supposed to be the start of his new life. He was supposed to get away from all this.

It's too much.

“Hey kid! Hanzo!”

He turns to find the voice.

It's Reyes. He's running towards him. There's a smoking shotgun in both his hands. “Hanzo,” he says again, coming to a halt in front of him, “You gotta get out of here. It's not safe. We're doing what we can, but-”

“I'm not going to hide away,” he resists, puffing his chest out and pulling his shoulders back, “I need to fight. I can help.” He's not going to stand down to Reyes. If there is going to be any way out of this, he has to fight. He can only run away from home if there is still a home to run away from.

“Look kid, I'm not in the mood for an argument right now. I really can't have you out here. We've pushed them back into the street for now, but there's more coming. If we lose this choke we're done for, got it?” His tone isn't harsh or commanding. As intimidating as he is, Reyes isn't some sort of monster. He's a human, with human worries and emotions. It's obvious what he means. He doesn't want the added responsibility of keeping Hanzo protected. If something happens, it'll be on his head.

“Commander Reyes!”

He whips around to a soldier at the gate.

“They're coming back!”

His face sours, a look that could only be described as worried. He trots back to the front line. “How many?”

“At least thirty hostiles incoming, sir. We don't know if there are more still on the way.” The soldier glances around before leaning in and whispering something secretly.

Reyes works his jaw, “I didn't think they'd come this far... well, at least we know what to expect...” He mumbles to himself before giving in with a sigh. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, “How fast can you arm yourself, kid?”

“Fast enough,” Hanzo replies, already darting off.

–-

The gates fall, succumbing to the numbers, and the enemy floods in. There are just too many of them to hold in one spot with their own numbers waning. Blackwatch does its part, quite spectacularly, pulling through it all, even with the loss of some of their own men.

These foes are none Hanzo has seen before. They wield hi-tech weaponry that he doesn't recognize. It's nothing that his family has dealt. He also doesn't recognize their uniforms. They wear all black and conceal their faces behind helmets or visors. The only indication of who they are is the insignia on their uniforms: it looks like a claw, or perhaps an uppercase 'T'. Hired mercs maybe?

He watches from his perch atop the bell pagoda, firing arrow after arrow into the fray. He manages to bring down a few of the mystery attackers with a well placed strike to their unshielded necks. From this height, he can overlook everything easily and give the occasional message downward if he needs to. He's also relatively safe there, if anyone stopped long enough to look up at him and take aim, they'd be taken out by the ground forces. It makes Reyes happy enough, he appreciates the help while still keeping Hanzo safe. But, his own safety isn't really what he's concerned with. He's constantly scanning the ground for Jesse, who had come back from escorting his brother and the guests to safety, as he was informed.

He's holding his own, both revolvers drawn and firing with ease and a bit of flair that seems so natural for him. It's very clear that he's fought in big shoot outs before with the way he ducks into cover at precisely the right second and takes down multiple foes without a challenge.

He's completely in his element, decimating anyone in his line of sight. But he stops suddenly, something catching his eye. Hanzo can't hear what he's saying over the gun fire, but he yells something to Reyes and points. Following Reyes's head as he looks over his shoulder, Hanzo can see the cause. It looks like his father got tired of sitting in wait and has decided, much to the commander's dismay, to fight as well.

Just as soon as Hanzo's attention is drawn to his father, it's jerked back. Above the clamor of guns and swords he hears a cry from a voice he knows all too well.

“Jesse!” he shrieks, leaping down from his perch into the gravel below. He lands wrong and his ankle rolls when his feet hit the stones. It hurts, but he isn't interested in nursing it at the moment. Scrambling up, he limps his way through the chaos. Everyone around him moves in slow motion. Gunshots crack in his ears, but he can't hear anything above a dull ringing.

Jesse cries out painfully as a plasma bullet rips through his upper arm. He stumbles back on his heels and loses his footing, falling to the wooden paneling below him. Lawbreaker drops from his hand and skids along the ground, landing way out of reach. Heaving and gasping, clutching the gushing wound, he drags himself out of the combat. It's not the safest place, but it's the only one he can get to, given the circumstances. He pulls himself below the overhang, hiding away tucked in the shadows. Droplets of blood follow his path as they stream down his arm and drip onto the wood.

Hanzo is quick to his side, ignoring the throbbing pain from his bruised ankle. “Jesse, let me see,” he directs, pulling the cowboy's hand off the wound. A sizable hole is torn through his shirt and skin. It looks like it went all the way through. Without a thought, Hanzo pulls the ribbon from his hair to use as a makeshift tourniquet. He wraps it as tightly as he can just above the wound, which is no easy task. The blood makes the silk cloth slippery and slick. Jesse's arm quakes and convulses. Plasma weapons are nasty. Not only can they cut through flesh like butter, they send shocks and pulses all through the connecting nerves. It's an arduous recovery process after being wounded with such a weapon. Any closer to his torso, and the shot could have proved fatal. The human heart doesn't take well to unnatural electrical impulses. Hanzo ties the ribbon into a knot, cooing and shushing, “You're okay... It's alright.”

“Hanzo, watch out! Behind ya!” With his left arm rendered useless, Jesse fumbles with the right, trying to get a hold on Peacekeeper. The gun slips around in his bloody palm and he can't get a grip on it. “Shit shit shit-” he curses hysterically, dropping the weapon through his fingers.

There's a flash of red in his vision before he can even turn around entirely. A warmness splashes across his face. His eyes go wide.

 

“ _Father_!”

 

The man hunches over in front of him. A blade impales him through the stomach and sticks out his back. His palms bleed, grasping the blade to keep it from pushing through him, and into his son. He coughs, blood rising up in his throat.

The swordsman isn't one Hanzo would expect to see. He's not a rival clan leader, he's one of those mystery enemies, judging by his armor he must be their commander. He wrenches the blade in deeper, smirking wickedly. “Oh Sojiro, even now you defend him?”

“I will... never let you... have my son...” he coughs in reply.

Hanzo interjects, panicked, “What is going on!?”

“We offered your Daddy a fortune for you, kid. But ol' Sojiro wanted no part in it.” He draws the blade back, leaving Sojiro to fall weakly to the ground.

He clutches his abdomen, “I will not... have him brainwashed... and turned into a terrorist.” His breaths get shallower each time he inhales, but he doesn't stand down. “You will not... have him.”

“We'll see about that. Once we burn this place to the ground it'll be easy enou-” He falls onto his back with a thud, a bullet square between his eyes before he can finish his sentence.

Hanzo's head twirls around. Jesse's chest heaves, his chin presses down into his collarbone. The once silver and shiny Peacekeeper in his hand is dirtied and red. “Ha... Hanzo,” he mutters. Letting the gun fall beside him, he pushes with his good arm, trying unsuccessfully to sit himself up straight. “Hanzo, c'mere...”

His lower lip quivers. He turns back to his father, hooking an arm around him and supporting him by propping him on his shoulder. The man can't do much to help, he's growing weaker as the life drains from his body one drop at a time. Using all his strength, Hanzo gets them both on their feet, the pain from his ankle shoots up his leg. He has to get him out of here. Maybe there's something he can do. He just has to get him away from the danger.

“Hanzo!” Jesse calls out to him as he limps away. His hand flies over his wound, moving around too much and unsettling it. He groans and cringes at the pain still surging through his limb. Without the support of his right hand on the ground, he falls over again, face slamming into the wall. “N-no, Hanzo!”

He can't listen to him now and it tears him up inside. He has to get his father somewhere safe. He has to help him. The shrine. He'll go there. It's safe there

–-

“Father, it's alright, just stay with me.” He applies pressure on the wound, it's the most he knows to do without medical supplies. He can perform basic first-aid, but this is beyond his level. He props his father's head up on his lap, gently soothing him.

The shrine is filled with offerings and the portrait of his mother overlooks them. It'd be absolutely beautiful if not tainted with a crimson pool slowly seeping through the tatami.

Sojiro coughs, blood gurgles in his mouth. “Hanzo... it is...”

“Father, do not speak, please, conserve your strength.”

“It is my fault...I... made an agreement...” His head falls to the side and he hacks, “I deceived them... I promised you... to them. But... I lied."

“Wh...what?”

Weakly, he takes Hanzo's hand, lifting it from his wound. He knows that it will not help. “They are called... Talon. I did... business with them... but did not hold up my end... That is why... all this... I knew... I knew it was not other clans targeting us... I knew it was them...”

Hanzo grips his hand tightly, “No... this isn't...”

“So many lives... because... of my selfishness.”

“Father, it is not your fault. No one could have predicted this.”

His lips pull into a half smile, “It is why... I hired Blackwatch. I knew.” His breathing is barely even that. With every breath he drowns as his lungs fill up. “Be... better than me, Hanzo... You and Genji... make up for... my dishonor.”

He speaks no more words. His glossy eyes go dull. In the moment that his body dies, his spirit goes free. His body goes unnaturally hot and his skin glows like fire. Hanzo's tattooed arm pulses and thrums in response. The elder dragon is finally free from his mortal vessel. The creature coils around Hanzo, enveloping him in a comforting warmth before shooting off in the direction which they came from. It's the last thing he can do to protect his family and his home.

“Father...” Hanzo sobs, craning over the lifeless form. His tears fall fat and heavy on his father's pale face. His hand shakes as he closes the man's eyes for good and places a kiss on his forehead. He can hear the terrified screams from the battlefield. And then the screams subside, so does the thrumming in his arm. It's done.

–-

“Hanzo... you okay?”

How long has he been sitting there? The body hasn't grown cold yet, he must have just spaced out. “Jesse... just go,” he answers, lifting his head.

He hears the cowboy's heavy footsteps close in behind him and his knees drop to the floor. Soon enough an arm is wrapped around his shoulders. “Hanzo, let's go together. We can still leave,” his voice trembles as he speaks into the shell of Hanzo's ear.

“No. I cannot.”

“Why not? Hanzo please, I'm beggin' ya. Come away with me. We can go right now. Please,” he pleads, holding Hanzo even tighter, as if it will keep him there forever.

He can feel tears drop onto his skin and it takes everything in his power to not give in. “Jesse... not now. I can't. I am needed here. I can't...”

“Bullshit!” he spits out, unlatching himself and sitting back. “There's no one to keep ya here! You can do as ya please! C'mon Hanzo, let's just go!”

His fists ball up and his jaw tightens. He wants to. Every fiber of his being wants to go. He wants to forget all this and run away. But, it is his duty to stay. There is no one to take care of Genji if he leaves. With his father gone, he's the only one. There are so many people depending on him now. He can't just up and leave. “I... cannot.”

Jesse slams his good hand into the ground. Frustration and desperation tint his tone, “What about our plans, huh? What about you? You wanted to get outta this place so bad and now yer wantin' to stay!?”

He inhales sharply, forcing back his emotions. It's something he's learned to do perfectly over the years. He has to stay strong. “I do not wish to stay here, but things have changed. It is my duty. There was a time for our... relationship... but it is over now. I'm sorry. I was foolish.”

“Hanzo, look at me. Look at my face and tell me that,” he sputters through grit teeth.

He's silent.

“Look at me Hanzo. Look at me.”

His long bangs fall over his painfully bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks. He remains facing away, his back to the man he loves. He's the only one to make him lose himself like this, “N-no...”

“Why not!?”

“Because,” he pauses, taking a moment to fill up his lungs and sit straight and proper, “If I look at you, I fear I will do something that will bring great dishonor upon my name.” He knows that if he turns around and sees him- those honey eyes, that freckled skin, the silly hat resting atop his messy hair- he'll give in. He can't look at him, no matter how much he wants to. It's taking everything he has to just keep himself upright, instead of the sniveling broken pile that his body would much rather be in. He's crumbling.

“Then do it! Hanzo, look at me!” Jesse wails, again slamming his fist into the ground, “I love ya! I love you more than anything, so please. Just look at me. I need to see ya. It's all I'm askin', _please_.” He collapses to his hands and knees, weeping and blubbering. He crawls to his lover, tugging on the back of his yukata, “Please. Just look at me. After that, you can kick me out. Please. Please. I love you Hanzo. I need ya. Just... lemme see yer face one last time.”

“Jesse,” his breath hitches, “Please go. Just leave me be.”

“J-just tell me one thing,” he rasps, “Do ya love me?”

Words cannot describe how much Jesse means to him. He brought a light to his life that he'd never experienced before. Love doesn't even begin to cut it. He adores him. He wants to spend eternity with him. He wants to wake up to his smiling face every morning. He doesn't care if they're rich, poor, or anywhere in between. As long as he can see that smiling face, he'd live life as a happy man. Now though, it isn't an option.

“There he is. Grab him.”

It's Reyes.

Nat and another operative rip him away from Hanzo, restraining him by the arms. He resists, thrashing around, despite his injury. All the while he screams. He screams his name. _Hanzo. Hanzo please_.

It becomes fainter, but he still hears it. Just his name. He hears it once Jesse is gone. The last thing he hears from a man who stole his heart and promised him happiness is the screaming of his name. Any bit of dignity he has left shatters. Tears roll down his face, salt stings his lower lid.

“Hey kid,” Reyes frowns, “You gonna be alright?” He knows the risks of battle. He and Sojiro had become friends over the past month, but it does him no good to mourn over the loss.

“I have to be...” He looks at the photo of his mother. His father will join her soon. They finally get to spend their eternity together. If only he was so lucky. “Will... will Jesse be okay? His arm...”

Reyes's mouth pulls to a crooked sympathetic smile, “Yeah. He'll be fine.”

“Good... good.” He exhales deeply, “Commander Reyes, I'm sorry but, I do not wish to do business with your people anymore. I can pay you for your services and for your losses, but I can offer you nothing else. I'll put you into contact with one of our dealers if you wish, but I will not work with Blackwatch or Overwatch in the future. My brother must stay here with me as well, you will forgive me...”

He shrugs, playing it off. It's a huge hit on the Blackwatch name, not that they had a good reputation to begin with. “It's fair enough. This didn't go exactly as planned. I understand. We didn't do our duties to the extent written in the contract.”

“I'm afraid I must also ask that you never return here. Please do not contact us again.”

“You know he's gonna fight me on that.”

Hanzo sighs and pushes his hair from his face. “I know. Make up something. Tell him a lie to dissuade him. I do not want him coming back here.” It's the only way he'll be able to focus on what he needs to do. He can't live with the fantasy that one day Jesse will come breaking down those gates and sweep him away like a knight. He will not be the princess in the scenario, he is the dragon.

Reyes rests his hand on Hanzo's shoulder, “You take care of yourself, alright? It was good doing business with you, while it lasted.” He lifts his hand away and turns around, “See you around.”

“Goodbye Commander.”

–-

“Hanzo,” Genji nudges his shoulder. “They're shipping out, Hanzo. Do you want to see them off?”

Time feels like nothing. He doesn't know how long he's been there or what day it is. His father's body has been cleared away and the servants are busy at work cleaning the tatami. The blood on his skin is sticky and stagnant. He reeks of death. His eyes burn from lack of sleep. Everything is a blur.

Taking his brother's silence as a reply, Genji continues, “Hey, uh... here.” He takes Hanzo's hand, placing inside it the little pocket-knife Jesse had given him. “It's his, see, his initials are right there.” He points to the engraving, trying whatever he can to break his brother from this haze.

Hanzo shoves it right back at him. “I do not want it.”

“Brother? It's Jesse's. You don't want it?”

“No.”

Genji tilts his head, genuinely confused by Hanzo's sudden shift in attitude. He scoots a bit closer, studying his brother's face. “What's wrong?”

“He ruined my life.”

Genji's brows scrunch in the middle. “What are you talking about? Jesse did? I don't understand.”

His tone is flat and his voice is dry. He's tired. “If it were not for him filling my head with stupid ideas, Father would still be alive. I was foolish to fall for him. He promised me something that can never be attained. He promised a happiness that is unrealistic. He made me delusional. I know now, I will be the happiest I can be here.” His expression goes wry, his lips curl up and he sneers in a way unbefitting of someone who says he's happy. “How could I be unhappy? I will have wealth, power... What else could I seek?”

Genji backs away, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don't- You're really blaming Jesse for Father's death?”

“If I were not distracted by him, I could have defended myself and Father would not have had to step in.”

He can't believe what he's hearing. Only days prior, Hanzo had been going on about how much he loved the cowboy and how he wanted to be with him. He was going to run away with him. “That is unfair, to him and Father. He died protecting you, and you wish to diminish his sacrifice?”

“You know nothing, Genji. You were not there.”

“I know you are being unreasonable,” he scolds, getting to his feet. “Go get some rest. You've been sitting here for two days.” He slips the knife into his pocket for safe keeping. He'll hold onto it for now. Perhaps in the future, Hanzo will come to his senses and appreciate the token. He'll keep it until then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told y'all it was gonna get sad.  
> There will only be 2 more chapters after this one, but I am planning on writing a follow-up sequel.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little shorter than the rest, but I mean... considering....

It's been nearly nine years since the tragedy- the day Father died, the day the Hanzo he knew died.

Nothing has been the same since then.

Hanzo has become cold and cruel. He doesn't smile anymore. His face rarely shows anything more than a scornful scowl, as if he's constantly irritated by life in general. He trains for hours everyday with his sword, and once he's done with that, he moves onto archery. By the end of the day his hands are bloodied and raw. When he returns from practice, he reads, studies. The house is littered with books, left open with their spines cracking or with pages hastily dog-eared. He talks to no one besides the family and potential clients. He's closed the gates, hypothetically. No one visits the Shimada castle anymore. There are no more festivals. Most of the servants have quit. The few that remain are afraid to cross him, they walk on eggshells when in his presence.

Some of the family have deemed it necessary to move into the estate. Genji isn't sure how he's even related to half of them. They call themselves elders, but he's never seen then before. Maybe they're just people his father knew. Nevertheless, they've been no help with Hanzo's condition. The way they push him is only hurting him more. Genji has heard them, he's heard what they say. Constantly, they harass Hanzo, telling him about the need to get his brother in line. It wasn't so bad at first, Hanzo was actually doing a pretty good job of keeping everything running by himself, but as the years passed, his mental state only declined.

He never speaks about that day, or of the month preceding it. It's almost as if he's forgotten it, or has purposefully blocked the memory from his mind. After their father's funeral, Hanzo stayed in his room for nearly two weeks. What went on in there, no one is sure, but he emerged a completely different person. He holds some deep resentment, of what, Genji isn't sure Hanzo himself even knows. Any mention of that time makes him freeze up. He's always quick to change the subject when Blackwatch enters the conversation. From the little that Genji has been able to extract from him, he does remember Blackwatch coming in to help them, but no specifics of what actually went down.

Overwatch has been on the news more frequently, but there's never any mention of the covert ops division, which is understandable. Some blonde guy is always on, giving interviews and talking about how Overwatch is going to make a difference in the world and bring peace. Genji believes it. He doesn't know how trustworthy this blonde guy is, but he believes in the organization as a whole. They get a lot of flack from the UN, but he knows they're doing the right thing. He had almost got recruited into their ranks by his father. He was against it at the time, but now it doesn't seem so bad.

Recently, he's been exchanging emails with one of their members. Of course, he has to do it behind his brother's back. No way Hanzo would be happy with him contacting them. But, Hanzo isn't the only one who has been practicing his skills. He doesn't notice, he's too busy trapped in his own head.

Without ever meeting her, Angela has become a good friend. She's a doctor and a scientist, a little older than him, but wise beyond her years. She says that she's talked with her superiors and that they'd be interested in seeing what he has to offer. She says that it's hard to come by people that actually have faith in their cause. They aren't desperate by any means, but heroes are hard to come by. The position with them would be temporary at first, and he'd have to prove that he's cut ties with his family. Having the son of a well known crime-lord in their ranks would surely turn a few heads.

Hanzo has no interest in Overwatch, despite their large presence in the media. He clicks off the television whenever they're mentioned. All he says is that they spew fake promises and give false hope to gullible people. He says that they just tell society what is wants to hear, and there is no real hope for humanity.

Is that so bad? Sometimes, even if it's just a fallacy, people need something to hold onto. Who cares if it's just a hope and a prayer.

–-

“You are leaving.”

Genji huffs, hitching his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Yeah. I am.” Today's the day. He's finally going to meet up with Angela and get out of this place. She's bringing a small transport ship to pick him up. He's finally going to live up to that promise his father made years ago. He thought he could sneak by without Hanzo noticing, but apparently not.

“I never said you could go anywhere.” Hanzo stands in the door, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes dangerously lowered. He takes up a wide stance, filling up as much space as possible.

Setting his jaw, Genji shoves past his brother, ramming him in the shoulder. “I don't care what you say, Hanzo. You do not control me.” He's acting more like their father every day, but more like the tyrannical skewed image he always held of him. He's like some sort of caricature of the man. As Genji passes by, his arm is caught. He yanks away and tries to pull away from Hanzo's grip, but he's too strong. “Let go.”

His brows furrow, his scowl deepens, “Genji, you are not going anywhere.”

He shakes his arm, but the hold remains like a vice-grip. “You cannot stop me. You are not Father. You have no right to tell me what I can and can't do. ” Hanzo's grasp loosens only for a moment, but Genji takes full advantage of it, releasing himself to storm down the hall.

His brother follows at his heel.

“You wish to abandon the family?” Hanzo barks, “Everything I have worked for, everything Father worked for will be for nothing! You are ungrateful!”

“Maybe I am! This was never for me.” Genji spins around, setting his bag on the ground. He raises his voice, “It's always been for you, Hanzo. This clan dies with you. I cannot abandon something I was never part of to begin with.” His fists ball at his sides, “I want to make something of myself, and I cannot do that living in your shadow. I want better for myself. I want better for the world. I want to make a difference that matters. This... this family... what are we even doing? All we do is hurt people. I don't want that.”

“After all I have done for you...” he growls. “You always were inconsiderate. All you do is go out with your friends, flitting around like the little sparrow you are.” The venom pours from his tongue, years of resentment bubble to the surface of his heart. “You have never once helped me. It is what Father wanted of us, he wanted us to work together, Genji.” He rubs his temples, cringing like he's in pain. “Do you know what the elders say about you? They say that Father spoiled you. They say that I need to put you in your place, but every single time, I stand up for you. I tell them excuse after excuse, but I can do it no longer. I can't do this by myself, Genji. Please, it was Father's last request.”

“Well, Father is dead. He's been dead for years. Can't you start thinking for yourself? Why are you so obsessed with proving yourself to him?” He doesn't mean to get riled up. He prides himself on his even temper, but this is something that needs to be said. “You were once in the same position as me. I didn't try to stop you. I supported you!”

Hanzo squints. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“God, Hanzo. Are you really that delusional?” Genji sighs, picking up his bag and turning back around. “Whatever. I don't have to listen to this. I've been offered an opportunity I can't pass up. I'm going to make a difference. Overwatch is doing something to change this world, they aren't stuck in the past like you. If you ever wish to speak like civil men, that's where I'll be.”

“You are _not_.”

He glances over his shoulder, taunting, “Try to stop me.”

This is apparently the wrong response. In a flash he's tackled to the ground, his scarf curled up in Hanzo's hand. A heavy fist collides with his jaw. Genji does his best to push his brother off, kicking his legs wildly and twisting his body around. Before he can worm his way out, his face is met with another punch. He bites the inner flesh of his cheek and he can taste the copper on his tongue. While Hanzo is reeling back for another, he slips away. His feet slip on the polished wood floor, but he manages to quickly grabs his bag and sprint out the door.

Before he leaves through those gates, he needs one vital thing. He needs a sword. He can't take one of those dingy practice swords, he needs something good. He'd never been given one by his father, as Hanzo had when he turned eighteen.

He takes a look behind him, for the mean time, Hanzo hasn't followed him. Whether he's had a change of heart or not, it gives Genji small opportunity to gather up what he needs. Setting down his bag he rummages through it to find his cell. Swiping the screen he unlocks it and checks his messages. There's one notification from Angela. He lets himself smile, it is reassuring. She says that they'll arrive in an hour or two, depending on the weather. She says that the team is eager to meet him.

He tosses the phone back into his bag and heads off towards the shrine. He's been eyeing the swords there for quite some time. They're ceremonial, but still hold a razor-sharp edge. What's the big deal if he takes one? All they're doing is collecting dust sitting in that lonely shrine. A blade is meant to be used, not ogled at. He'll put it to good use, he'll use it as a tool for the greater good.

–-

It was in that place that he held his dying father. All the tatami had been replaced since then, every little piece of evidence was removed, as if it never happened. Everything before that moment is fuzzy, but Hanzo remembers every word his father spoke to him. Those words became his gospel. Everything he's done since then has been to honor those words. His father died because of his mistake, it's the least he can do to continue his legacy.

But Genji threatens to crush that legacy into the dirt. He doesn't understand what happened that night, he wasn't there. He didn't have to see their father's life disappear from his body. He didn't have to hold him as he spoke his last words and his body went cold. Maybe if he'd seen what happened, he'd be more willing to comply.

He steps into the shrine where he sees his brother. He takes a deep breath and marches forward. This is his last chance to get Genji in line. He only has this moment to try to get through to him.

“I cannot let you pass,” he states, standing firm in the entryway. Genji tries to push by, but he sidesteps to block him in. He notices the blade in his hand and the empty pegs under the tapestry. His eyes narrow. “Put it back.”

Genji stands defiant and unmoving. “I will not back down, Hanzo.”

“And neither will I.”

“So we have reached an impasse.”

Hanzo pushes Genji back, stepping into him and forcing him to backpedal. “So what shall we do Genji?” He steps again, “Clearly, we have opposing views.” He huffs, shouldering Genji and passing by him. “I do not know where I went wrong. I have done everything I can to help you.” He talks diminutively as if speaking down to a child. To him, that's what his brother is still. He's twenty-five years old but know nothing of being an adult. “What happened Genji? We used to get along.” He casually drags his fingertips along the remaining blade at the alter. “You know, there is really only one way to solve this.”

Genji sets down his bag and rolls his neck. “I figured as much.” His grip on the scabbard tightens.

It's been some time since they've sparred, it's been years. But, this is for much more than practice. This is a duel for something much more. The Shimada brothers are stubborn, both believe in their own cause so fervently they are willing to lay down everything for it.

They stand across from one another on the tatami, each clutching a blade in hand. Neither of them wanted it to come to this.

 

He never wanted to kill him.

 

The dragons screech and roar, encircling Genji and ripping him to shreds. He screams, crying out for his brother, pleading for mercy. Hanzo can only look on in disbelief. He let his emotions get the better of him- the emotions he had pushed to the back of his mind for so long.

They had been on nearly equal ground, parrying and dancing around the other's blade. Genji had practiced and his skills had multiplied exponentially since the last time they had sparred. But he still didn't know how to hold his tongue. Why did the words affect him like that? Why did what he said ignite such anger within his heart?

“Didn't you once want freedom?” he said, “I remember the Hanzo who was ready to run away from all this. I do not know who you are, but you are not my brother.”

He doesn't know what came over him. The dragons burned through his arm, and when he struck, they attacked. His brother's blood splattered over him as the beasts latched their teeth into his skin. He stood no chance. His own dragon was no match for the twins. It tried to protect him, lashing back at it's brothers. They brought it down with no hesitation. After all the screaming, Genji falls. The screaming stops.

Hanzo is like stone, he can't tear his eyes away from the bloodshed. The dragons twist and writhe around their kill before returning to their master. With their renewed energy, Hanzo rushes to his brother's side. “No. No no no,” he repeats, pulling Genji's limp body onto his lap. It's too late already. The light is gone from his eyes. “Genji... Genji no... what- what have I done? Genji...” He pulls him in tightly, squeezing the lifeless form. He shakes his head, trying to tell himself that it isn't real. His breath shudders as he lays his brother's body down on the ground, the same spot where their father passed.

He stands, staggering to distance himself from the corpse. What did he even mean? Who was the Hanzo who was going to run away? He never did such a thing. He looks down to his hands. The moonlight beaming in from the side patio paints him in white light, making the blood striping across his skin all the more vibrant. The dragons still pulse in his arm, emitting a soft blue glow from the length of his tattoo. It reminds him of something.

 

_Prettier than a parade float on the Fourth of July._

 

_All decked out in red, white, and blue._

 

His knees buckle under his weight. The memories flood back to his consciousness at once. It all comes back: Blackwatch, the month before the disaster, Jesse. Oh God, Jesse.

Flipping the blade in his hands, without a second thought he points the tip at his belly. He presses it in, feeling the pressure against his skin, but he can't bring himself to follow through. His gut churns and he feels like he's going to vomit. Sweat beads on his forehead and rolls down his face. It's all too much.

He's made such a mistake. Everything in his life has been a mistake. It'd be better for the world if he simply wasn't in it, but he's a coward. It would be the honorable thing to do, to take his own life. After all the dishonor he'd brought upon himself chasing silly fantasies, it might not even be enough.

That bastard ruined his life. Whatever feelings he once harbored for Jesse McCree are gone, no matter what his brain tells him. He blocked those memories away for a reason. It was a mindless fling. It meant nothing. All it did was taint his mind and make him irrational. Feelings get in the way of reason, he's learned this the hard way. But the blame cannot rest solely upon Jesse's shoulders. Hanzo let himself be swayed by his smooth-talking. It's his own fault. He allowed himself to get distracted and his father died protecting him because of it. He let his emotions take hold of him and he lashed out, that's what killed Genji. The dragons inside him have no sense of right or wrong. They simply act according to what his will. At that moment, he wished for Genji's silence.

He throws the blade down, he can't bear to look at it any longer. It has brought him too much pain already.

At this point, he doesn't even know who he is. The man he is now is a completely different person from the man he was years ago. He used to be a young man filled with ambition, but now he's nothing but a shell. He's a shell filled with self-hatred and regret. How can he stay here and call himself the leader of the Shimada clan?

He has to find himself. Who is Hanzo Shimada? He's not his father, so he needs to stop trying to be. It will take time, but he has to find his own reason to keep on living, whether it be for revenge or for retribution. What he has done is unforgivable, nothing he does will make up for this terrible crime, but if he can redeem himself in some way, at least he'll have some honor when he dies.

He has to leave Hanamura. There is nothing left for him here. The empire is dead. The Shimadas are dead. Sure, the elders and the extended family with stake their claim and take over, but it won't be the same. They'll put their own rules in place and use the Shimada name to further their own ventures. It will only get worse. Compared to them, Hanzo is a benevolent king.

Undoubtedly, they'll look for him. They'll hunt him down for his betrayal. He'll be tried for what he is- a murderer. He deserves it. He can't make more excuses, he has to own up and take responsibility for his actions. So if he gets caught he'll do so, but they have to catch him first.

–-

“Dr. Ziegler, you'll want to see this.”

She's ushered through the courtyard, past a gazebo and delicate cherry blossom trees. The estate is incredibly beautiful, like nothing she's ever seen before. The architecture is vastly different from what she's grown accustomed to in Switzerland.

Her curious, pleasant mood drops when he steps through the doors to the shrine. The smell hits her first. She knows the scent all too well.

She's led to the middle and what she sees, for the first time in her years of medicine, brings her to pause. It's Genji. He's sliced up, his flesh and limbs torn to pieces, but she recognizes him. Who did this to him? What did this to him? She has no idea what force could have done this to the human body. She drops down beside him. It'd be no use to check the pulse in his wrist, his arms are too badly mangled. One looks entirely unsalvageable. She presses her fingers to his neck and holds her breath.

It's extremely faint, but it's there. It's the weakest pulse she's felt on someone still alive. He's just barely holding on. He's slipped into a comatose state, probably for the better. He conserves energy that way and his body doesn't have to work as hard. It must be sheer force of will keeping him alive at this point. To any other medical professional, he'd be a lost cause and pronounced dead at the scene, but she's no ordinary doctor.

“Hurry!” she shouts, “We need a stretcher and medical assistance ready when we reach the ship. Bring me my kit, I think I can stabilize him.” She's careful to touch him, he has more wounds than skin at the moment. A giant gash rips across his chest. His flesh is bright red, as if it's been burned. All but one limb is ripped to bits, hanging on by threads of muscle. She needs to stop the blood loss, the biggest issue is to keep him from bleeding out. She pets a hand through his hair, “It's going to be okay, Genji,” she assures, “I've got you.”

One of her assistants runs back, her kit in his hand. “Dr. Ziegler! A stretcher is on the way. Shall we inform Gibraltar to ready the med bay?” He takes a knee and assists her.

“No, we're not going to Gibraltar. If I'm going to save him, I need my equipment. We go to Switzerland.”

“Understood, ma'am.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter will be a timeskip~~~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the last chapter. I've had a really great time writing this fic, and I'm super excited to start plotting out the sequel! I know I love these babes and I hope you love them too <3

The smell of black coffee wafts up from his cup, perking up his groggy body. He sits alone in the cafeteria, well, not alone- a group of those blue-clad boy scouts sit across the way, chattering among themselves and completely ignoring his presence. He doesn't mind. He prefers to be alone, really. He's used to it.

He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip. It's still hot, not cooled with any milk or cream. He lets out a satisfied hiss, feeling the liquid warm him up from the inside. It's one of his few pleasures in life to have a nice hot cup of coffee and some quiet time in the early morning. Undisturbed and doing what he pleases, that's how he likes to live his life.

He leans back in his seat, balancing it on the back to legs while he props his heavy boots on the ledge of the table. Captain Amari always scolds him for doing it, saying his spurs scratch up the tabletop and that he tracks dirt everywhere. All the better, he thinks. It marks which spot is his, and nobody else sits there. It saves him the trouble of kicking them out.

Settling into the seat, he takes another sip, savoring the bitter flavor. Life's little pleasures.

The sound of his communicator pings with a new message. He sighs, dropping the chair back on all fours and setting his feet back on the ground. Well, it was nice while it lasted, but duty calls. He unclips the device from his belt and turns on the screen. There's a message from Reyes. He opens it up and reads it.

 

_Hey, we've got a new recruit coming in for assessment._

_I'm up to my eyes in paperwork and I can't pick him up._

_Do me a favor and show him around, alright?_

_I'll meet up with you later._

 

He hadn't heard anything about a new recruit. It's a bit rude of Reyes to drop this on him, especially without even mentioning anything about it. Whatever, no big deal. He can be a tour-guide for awhile, it's better than running drills for hours on end.

He types out a quick reply and clips the comm back on his belt. He grabs his cup and knocks back the rest of the coffee before standing up. He tosses the cup into the dirty dish bin and give a quick tip of the hat to the soldiers in blue before he sets off.

He'll probably be at the hangar, this new recruit guy, that's where Reyes usually picks them up. It's a long walk there and it's a brisk, chilly morning. He wishes he would have brought a coffee to-go with him. Well, he has another way to warm himself up. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a rectangular tin and pops it open. It's a bit early for a cigarillo, but he feels like he deserves it. Reyes sends out him out into the cold this early in the morning, he deserves to give himself a little treat.

Happily, he chomps down on the roll of tobacco, trailing a cloud of smoke behind him as he walks along. Hopefully this recruit is a cool guy. He's sick of seeing the same faces over and over, hearing the same stories. It's been awhile since they've had a newbie. Fresh meat brings something new to the table. Hell, maybe it'll make his own job easier, if this guy turns out to be competent enough. This might not be so bad.

–-

The hangar is mostly empty when McCree arrives. There's a few drop-ships and transports humming as the engineers work on them. There's one smaller ship docked with the latch open, a couple agents buzz around it, looking preoccupied with their own conversations.

McCree approaches them, not standing too tall, he doesn't want to intimidate them. “Hey, uh,” he interjects, “I'm here to pick up a Blackwatch recruit. Is he uh, is he here?”

The agents look him up and down before turning their glance to the side wordlessly. Their eyes rest on a figure leaning against the side of the ship. He wears a large jacket and a visor covers his face. Cords and wires sprout from the back of his head, others connect to his legs in various places. He looks... mechanical? Is he an Omnic? No, he's got spiky black hair on his head, and he offers a very much flesh and blood hand out in greeting.

“Yo,” he says flatly, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

“You the guy?” McCree asks, shaking his hand cordially. He looks like an interesting guy, probably has some fun secrets. “I'm gonna show ya around. You'll meet Commander Reyes later. C'mon.”

He motions for the recruit to follow him as he leads him out of the hangar. Gibraltar is pretty standard, as far as bases go. There's lots of fancy tech stuff and everyone's always walking around looking at some sort of screen. For the most part the Overwatch yuppies avoids the Blackwatch gang. The two factions don't exactly get along. Reyes is good enough friends with Morrison and Amari, but their camaraderie doesn't really extend into their ranks.

“Name's McCree by the way,” he mentions, trying to stir up some conversation. This guy is just a bit too quiet for his liking.

This does get him to speak up. “You have barely changed, Jesse...” he states, his voice is metallic through his mask.

McCree stops, quirking up a brow and pushing his cigarillo to the corner of his mouth. “Sorry pal, but... have we met before?” He's not one to give out his first name freely, he only gives it out on a need to know basis. He definitely doesn't recall meeting a half-man, half-robot guy. That, he'd remember.

He faces down and lets out a tinny chuckle, “I'm not surprised you do not recognize me.” He sets his bag on the ground and crouches down to rifle through it. McCree watches curiously as he pulls something from it, he can't tell what it is at first, it's hidden in his palm. “Here.” He extends it out. McCree takes it from his hand.

It's a little knife. A pocket-knife. It has the initials J.M. engraved on the handle.

“...Ho-ly shit.” He's wide eyed. He hadn't seen that knife for almost ten years. Last time he saw it was... in Japan. Putting two and two together, he comes to his conclusion easily. “Yer... Genji?”

He can't see his face, but judging by his tone, the cyborg is smiling under his mask. “So you do remember,” he says with a metallic hum. “I was worried that maybe you had forgotten.”

“How could I forget!? Holy shit, Genji. Yer actually here. Oh my God,” McCree's hands drag over his face, muffling his voice. He looks Genji up and down, the look of delight of his face twisting into something more concerning. “What, uh... hmm...” He stops to think very carefully of his next words. “Forgive me for askin', but... what's with the cybernetics?”

Genji lowers his head, “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he replies. “Follow me.”

The implications surrounding Genji's appearance aren't favorable. Not many people willingly undergo such drastic procedures unless absolutely necessary. He knew a couple guys that had some minor things done: strengthening a bum knee or fixing bad eyesight. He's even seen some poor saps replace missing limbs. But the extent of Genji's prosthetic work looks extraordinary.

McCree fast-forwards his little tour and instead takes Genji straight to the final destination. He's going to show him to his quarters. It's a good enough place to talk and they need to go there anyway. The Blackwatch crew is sectioned off, away from the shiny, pristine Overwatch agents. At least they have their own rooms, all of the lower ranked agents in Overwatch have to sleep communal style in bunks, lined up side by side. Surely Reyes, with his silver-tongue, was the one who secured Blackwatch the better living arrangements.

–-

Genji sets his bag down on the floor, looking around the empty room. The rooms aren't exactly large, some might call them “cozy” even. The bed takes up most of the space, stretching from one wall to the other. There's a built in desk attached to the wall with a small chair pushed up to it. Besides that, there's a slim chest tucked under the bed for clothes or other belongings. It's a modest accommodation.

He doesn't bother to unpack his bag yet, he just unzips his jacket and tosses it onto the desk. His body is even more mechanical than McCree had thought. He's completely metal and carbon fiber up to his chest. His flesh limb is bandaged down to the wrist. He takes a seat on the lumpy mattress, fiddling with a loose wire. “I suppose there is much explaining to do.”

“Take yer time.” McCree pulls out the chair from the desk and plops down. “I got some questions when yer ready.”

“You go first. I'll fill in the rest.”

“Well-” McCree sighs, leaning back in the chair, “I think ya know what my first question is about.” He drops the chair legs back to ground with a thud. “How is he?”

Genji shudders, visibly shaken. “I knew this was coming but... I thought I would be more prepared.” He lets out a breath, “Truthfully, I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him since...” He stops, clenching his fists in his lap, “He did this to me, Jesse. He left me for dead. What I am now, it is his fault.” He looks up and continues, “When Father died he completely changed. He became a man that would do _this_ to his own kin.”

McCree is silent, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He closes his eyes, processing this bomb of information. “What the hell happened?”

“He killed me. I told him I was leaving and he killed me,” he says. “Angela and I were contacting each other at the time. I was planned to join Overwatch, but now look at me. That bastard ripped away the one dream I had left.” He tries to keep himself from trembling, but even his cybernetics can't help him. “If it weren't for Angela, I really would be dead. Sometimes I think it would be better that way.”

McCree empties himself from the chair and slides onto the bed next to Genji. “C'mon now, don't talk that way. Just... go on. I'm gonna need to know this stuff if we're gonna be teammates.” On the exterior, he remains strong, taking the information as it comes. On the inside, he feels like his heart is coiling and collapsing in on itself. The pit of his stomach drops and he's starting to sweat. He curls a finger under the collar of his shirt to adjust it.

Genji shrugs, “What Angela has done for me is incredible. She said when she found me I was barely clinging to life. I was in a coma for weeks. My body... I was torn apart. My skin was shredded and raw. She said parts of me looked like I was burned. She did skin grafts, but I didn't have enough healthy tissue to take from, she had to weave it together with the cybernetics instead, like a protective shell. I can't survive without it. She wasn't able to save my limbs. And-” he removes the visor from over his face. He squints his eyes and blinks to adjust to the light. They're red and emit a subtle glow. The skin of his face is riddled with freshly healed scars. His eyes remain unfocused, twitching slightly. “-these are new as well. I am not used to them yet.

“And... Hanzo did all this to ya?” McCree pinches the bridge of his nose, “Sorry, it's just a little hard to believe.”

“It sickens me to even call myself a Shimada. I would completely renounce the name, but it is the last bit of humanity I have left. Look at me.” He stands suddenly, his circuits whirring. The temperature around him rises. “I am more machine than human. That is why I am here. They won't let me join Overwatch. I understand. People are quick to judge. They see me and think of Omnics, they do not trust me.” He sits back down and shakes his head, “I must thank Commander Reyes though... he saw my name and said he'd take me in.”

It's unbelievable. Seeing Genji after all these years is surreal. McCree feels the need to pinch himself just to make sure this is all really happening. It's a huge bombshell. One second, he was just doing a favor for Reyes and showing around a new recruit, the next second he's being reunited with someone he thought he'd never see again.

“Ah, excuse me...” Genji mumbles as he replaces his visor, “I prefer to look at you face to face, but my eyes are still a bit sensitive.” He clicks the piece of metal back into place before dropping his hands back to his lap. “I'm not at my top form yet, Angela still has many upgrades planned for me. She didn't want to let me leave the lab yet, she said I wasn't ready, but I insisted. How else can I get used to this body if I do not use it?” He's trying to change the subject now, realizing how dark he'd gotten. He doesn't want to go there. “She says that she's working on a way to run all my wiring internally. She's done amazing so far, I can appreciate her work subjectively. I have a steel spine now, and the prosthetics on my legs allow me to jump higher than an Olympian.” He pauses. “I won't ever look 'normal' again. With my future upgrades... I'll lose more and more of my humanity.”

“Do ya wanna talk about it?” McCree offers. “I'm not really so good with this sorta thing, but if you need someone to just... talk at.” He's learned his lesson. He's learned not to open his heart so easily. He feels for Genji, he knows what it's like to be ostracized. He wants to help him, but he's not ready himself. Even if just looking at him didn't send bad memories spiraling back to the front of his mind, he doesn't think he's in a good enough mental state to be giving anyone advice.

Did Hanzo really do all this? There's no reason for Genji to lie about it. His anger seems genuine enough. It's hard to accept that someone he loved so dearly, someone so precious to him, could be capable of such cruelty. But, then again, they were just kids at the time. They were young and stupid. He can laugh about it now that the pain has numbed. Honestly, he was pretty angry himself, for quite awhile. If it wasn't for Reyes working all the rage out of him with his relentless training exercises and drills, he'd probably still feel spiteful.

His anger was never directed on Hanzo himself, not really. He was always more angry with himself. He let himself be that dumb love-struck teenager. He can't deny that Hanzo hurt him. At such a young age, that relationship made him swear off love. Nothing good comes of it. He's had offers, no one in Blackwatch cares for him, but some of the Overwatch agents have felt themselves rebellious and attempted to pursue him. They don't know him, and if they did they'd never have had interest in him in the first place. He's got too many problems of his own to even think of letting someone else in the festering wound that is his heart.

He wants to ask, desperately, what happened that night. He's sure Genji knows something. But, he can't just expect information from him. He's hurting too.

“I apologize, Jesse, but... I'm feeling tired. Do you mind if we end the introductions here?” Genji asks, slouching forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I'm afraid I still can't handle too much excitement. It is all a bit much for me.”

Giving him a pat on the back, gently, McCree stands. “I gotcha. Don't worry about it. I'll swing by later to pick ya up for dinner.” His face falls momentarily. “You can uh, you can eat, right?”

He nods.

“Alright, well, I guess I'll go to talk to Reyes. Just holler if ya need me.” He reaches into his pocket, remembering one last thing. “Oh, right. Here, take this.” He tosses a small comm device to the cyborg who snatches it easily out of the air. “All the Blackwatch agents are programmed in there, so don't be a stranger.” Then, with a tip of his hat, he's off.

–-

Reyes looks up from his stack of paperwork as his door flies open, nearly losing itself from its hinges. “What do you want, McCree? Are you finished already?”

“Reyes you sonovabitch. Ya did that on purpose.” The cowboy stomps in, failing to shut the door behind him as he approaches the commander's desk. He slams his hands down on the desk top, disturbing the papers.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he smirks, knowingly.

“Don't gimme that shit.” He raises a brow incredulously. “You knew that fuckin' Genji, _Genji Shimada_ , was the newbie, and ya sent me to deal with him anyway.

Reyes doesn't look up from his pile and continues signing away. “I was under the impression that you liked the Shimadas. You sure were fond of the other one.” It's probably a bit too far to push, but McCree is an adult, he can take it.

“Did ya even see him? Do ya even know what happened? Goddammit Reyes. Don't just send me into that shit without any warning.”

“Dr. Zielger informed me of his condition. Before he was injured, he was planned to join the blue coats. They turned him away once they saw him, apparently. He had nowhere else to go, so I offered to take him. It's not some sort of attack on you, McCree. It has nothing to do with you.” He sighs, setting down his pen and folding his hands atop the desk. “Jack would have just sent him away. What did you expect me to do?”

McCree pushes off the desk, pacing frustrated circles around the office. “It's not that. Just... why'd ya make me do it? Ya could'a atleast warned me, y'know. I really could'a used some time to prepare myself for that.”

“Because,” Reyes explains, “I knew that if I told you, you'd work yourself up over it, like you're doing now. You gotta get over your demons at some point. Better to just face them head on.” He rises from his chair, resting his hip against the edge of the desk while he crosses his arms over his chest. “You know we need more men. Dr. Ziegler can make Genji into whatever we need him to be.” He raises his hands, fending off the imminent retaliation from McCree. “And before you get all up in a fuss about it, he's consented to everything.”

He bites his tongue, unable to find anything inherently wrong with the situation to complain about. If it's Genji's own will to be upgraded into some sort of weapon, who is he to stop him?

“Do ya really feel right about this?” he huffs. It doesn't sit well with him. Even if it's Genji's choice, is Reyes really just going to let him do it? He's never been a man with high morals, and he doesn't have a problem fudging the rules of the law. But is he actually okay letting Genji throw his life away entirely and become a Blackwatch pawn?

Reyes shakes his head with a shrug, “I want to give him a chance. You should know what that's like better than anyone. This is all he has. It's a last resort for him.”

McCree works his jaw, looking skeptically at the commander. “Yer a big sap, ya know that?”

“What can I say? I love a good sob story.”

“And what does Morrison think of all this?”

“Well,” Reyes scratches the back of his neck, “he doesn't exactly know. He's the one who turned him away. He said that he's too dangerous, too unstable. He doesn't even want the doc working on him.” Frowning, he sits back down at this desk. “Did he tell you about what happened?”

Nodding, McCree also returns to the desk, taking a seat in one of the chairs facing it. “He said that uh... he said that Hanzo did it to him.”

Reyes nods, “I remember that kid, he didn't seem like the type to snap like that. But, I guess when you pull a string too tight, eventually it's gonna break.” It's a good analogy. “Besides that, we're gonna be in deep shit if the Japanese government catches wind of this, so we've gotta keep it pretty hush-hush. The Shimada's connections run deep in there. I don't think they'd be very pleased.” He leans back, “I have heard rumors though, that there's a nice bounty out there for Hanzo.”

“What?”

“I heard he completely disappeared, but that's just between you and me, alright? I don't need gossip about some fratricidal psycho on the loose getting everyone in a tizzy. I've got enough to deal with right now.”

McCree lowers his eyes, “Where have you heard these rumors?” It's not unlike Reyes to get intel from some questionable sources. Lucky for him, he doesn't have to maintain the same shining reputation as the strike commander.

Reyes smirks, “I have some connections too, don't worry about it.” He shoos the cowboy away, focusing back down on his mountain for paperwork. “Now get outta here. I'm busy.” He glances back up, “And introduce the kid to the rest of the team. He could use some friends.”

Pushing out of the seat, McCree stands and gives a weak wristed salute before heading out the door without another word.

He didn't think that Hanzo would come to the forefront of his mind again. The memory of him had been reserved for late, sleepless nights where he'd think back to better times and imagine a brighter future. Where would he be now if their plan had actually worked out? Would they both be relaxing on some tropical beach, or more likely, would they be holed away in some foreign country hiding from the law? Either option sounds nice, but it's unattainable now. Whatever they had was gone now. It accomplishes nothing to reminisce, he has to just move on and do his job. Genji is a painful reminder, but he'll get over it, he always does. The stray thought of long raven black hair cascading over a heavily inked shoulder will have to stay as a thought; no matter how much he wishes it to life, it'll never happen.

 

–-

  
  


The bite of frigid wind blows into the bar as the door swings open, the draft catching it slams it hard against the wall. A few eyes glance up from their half-empty flagons, but return once the door is forced shut, trapping the heat of the fireplace back inside.

No one cares to watch as the man with a large black case strapped to his back, sits down at the bar. The barman looks to him, setting aside the glass he'd been endlessly polishing to look busy. “What can I get for you?” he asks.

“I don't suppose you serve hot sake here.”

The barman shakes his head, “Sorry pal. If you want something to warm you up, we've got whiskey.”

He pulls down his hood and brushes the dusting of snow from his shoulders. His ears instantly feel the chill in the air. He tucks back a strand of black hair that had freed itself from his ponytail. “It will have to do then.” As the barman waddles away to prepare his drink, the man pulls the strap off his shoulder and over his head, hefting the case off his back and setting it on the floor beside him, propped up against the edge of the counter.

The television hung high in the corner catches his attention. The grainy picture shows a familiar circular logo, and then a blonde haired man appears on screen to give an interview. It looks like some sort of press conference. He asks the barman to change the station when he returns to pass him a glass of caramel colored liquid. It switches over to some sports match, piquing the interest of a few patrons.

He raises the glass and takes a cautious sip. Whiskey was never his favorite. Even Japanese whiskey isn't to his liking. He prefers sake or shochu. The drink burns going down, but at least it feels warm in his belly.

“So, where you from?” the barman asks, unfortunately deciding to settle down for a chat.

It's a question he gets a lot now that he's left Japan. He figures he's probably somewhere in Eastern Europe, maybe even in Russia. He's not really sure at the moment. Wherever he is, he doesn't recognize the written language. “Japan,” he answers, “initially. But now, nowhere in particular.”

The Lone Wolf, _Okami_ , he calls himself. He can't go around using his real name. He's even started to grow out his facial hair to disguise himself further. He knows there's a bounty out there for him. His family wants him back so he can receive his just punishment. He's certain that in this seedy little bar, surely someone would recognize the name Hanzo Shimada.

“You on the run?” He seems completely at home with the fact that fugitives frequent his establishment. He doesn't even blink.

Hanzo doesn't answer, he just lets an amused puff of air from his nose. He raises his glass again, to avoid talking even further. He doesn't intend to be rude, but he doesn't have much to say. What is there to say? He's lived his entire life sheltered. It's not like he has stories. Guys at bars like these, they always have some elaborately woven tale about their adventures or some great feat. The validity of these tales is up to debate, but at the very least they're entertaining. The most exciting thing he has to tell is about how he scorned the man he loved and went on to kill his brother, the last person who cared about him. He's the villain. No one wants to hear his story.

He'd have to return home soon, if he can even call it home anymore. It's almost been a year since Genji's death. It's probably pathetic and nowhere near worthy, but he wants to go back. If he can honor him in any way, he wants to. Even if all he can offer is a prayer, it's better than pretending like nothing happened. He has many things he still needs to do, so he won't let himself be captured there. Until his job is done, he must keep on living and fighting.

Throwing back the last of his drink, he sets the glass down and places a few credits on the counter. He can't stay in one place for too long to avoid any wandering eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbles, picking up his case and slinging it over one shoulder. He swivels on the bar-stool and stands. “By the way, do you know where the nearest bus stop is?”

The barman begins cleaning his place, looking up briefly to answer, “Go two blocks down and take a right.” He pockets the credits and lazily waves Hanzo off. “Take care, pal.”

So he's back out to face the cold. He pulls his hood up and pushes out the door. He'll have to find some way back to Japan without a passport or any form of identification. With the world in such disarray, it might not be too difficult. His old connections won't get him too far, so he's left to fend for himself. It's not as bad as his father made it out to be. He's been on the run for a year now. He hasn't had much trouble finding his way in the world. What hurts him most is the loneliness. For as stoic as he is, he just wishes he had a place that he could truly call home.

Hanamura may be a home, but it's not his, not any more. He'll have to find somewhere new, if he even deserves it. Maybe the life of a wanderer is his fate. They say you can make a home anywhere. They use that cliched phrase, “Home is where the heart is”- but what of those with hearts that are black and broken? Could someone that committed such atrocities be allowed that luxury?

Does he even deserve a shred of happiness after what he's done?

 

–-

  
  


Why he even kept the thing is a mystery. It's trash at this point.

The memories surrounding it aren't fond. All he thinks about is the pain he felt.

He thinks about the wound in his arm, and how it never quite healed. He can't even hold a gun in that hand anymore.

The once golden silk ribbon is stained a rusty mixture of red and brown. It's all he has left from that time- besides the scar on his bicep.

He lays in bed, facing the ceiling, clutching the scrap of fabric to his chest. It's all he has left of _him_. He raises it to his face, covering his nose and mouth and inhaling deeply. Any smell that might have lingered in the fibers has all but dissipated. If he closes his eyes he can remember it though. He remembers the smell of those cigarettes they had shared, he remembers the overwhelming smell of bloodshed when he'd been torn away on their last night together, and he swears he can smell the faintest hint of cherry blossoms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Entire work is unbeta'd and only edited by myself :'D
> 
> Thanks for all the kind words! You guys really keep me going!


End file.
